Detonation
by OWLSCRATCH
Summary: Gillian thought she was a regular girl. No dad. Single mom. Pretty much like any other kid out there, until the day she exploded. X-Men: First Class setting, Alex/OC.
1. Prologue

Gillian is 9 months old when her father leaves. She can only remember big ears. She sleeps through the smashing of 19 of the 20 ceramic plates in the kitchen cabinet downstairs. There's a slam and a pair of screams and an incandescent white light, then silence.

Gillian is 14 months old when she says her first word. Flushed cheeks, stocky little legs, and a pink bow tied into a gentle wisp of fine black hair, bouncing atop the lap of her single mother with ash blonde waves flowing over her shoulders. Lena, her mother, smiles and plants wet kisses all over her forehead and hugs her tight. She is healthy and happy practically swimming in her too big clothes and hair accessories. Now she remembers a set of green eyes.

Gillian is 5 years old when she moves from Chicago, Illinois to upstate New York. The backwoods beside her house sometimes hums and whispers to no one or nothing in particular. She sleeps with her mother most nights to extinguish the swell of flames that exist only in her nightmares: convulsions and screams and weirdly shaped clods of meat. Sometimes she can remember coarse-grained lips against the corner of her eye.

Gillian is 13 years old when she explodes. She's in the thicket all alone when she falls onto her back in wet soil. It's difficult to breathe when the tremors first begin, but after a minute or so she's just choking on saliva and holding back tears. The air heats up around her, or maybe it's just her skin burning up. Gillian arches her back and a split second later she detonates. It's not even a slow, grueling process for her, it's quick. Pink nuggets of flesh and tissue are strewn all over the forest, down burrows in the ground, caught in weeds, stuck to tree bark like bubble gum. Just as the wind stills, the little nuggets rumble in their spots and inch back to where Gillian once lay. Weaving into one another the pieces recreate Gillian in the soil. She's startled and bolts upright for air, coughing and wheezing all over the ground. Her mind is everywhere and anywhere at once, but she still manages to recall an Aquiline nose.

Gillian is 17 when she grows out of her black hair. It regularly lightened over the years and grew into thick henna red curls riveting down her crooked spine. She also realizes what a threat she had become and decides it best to leave and avoid endangering her mother. She packs a bag while the rest of the world sleeps and heads off to the City. By now she has completely put her father's face together.


	2. CHAPTER ONE

Her alarm clock sounds somewhere beneath astronomy text books and crumpled drawing paper. Limbs and baby fat dangle off the bed and Gillian lets out a strangled groan before rolling off the mattress, entangled in sweaty sheets. The floor is hard even though it's cloaked with the ingrain carpet Gillian stole from her mom before leaving. It has a Vienna coffee stain right in the center, so noticeable against the pewter green tapestry that Gillian just tosses stacks of books on top.

Pillars of light shine through the bay window, dust motes dancing around in the air. Gillian, a mess of a young woman gently unfolded onto the carpet, finally stands up and stretches her stiff muscles. She scratches her head and stifles a yawn, walking into the kitchen of her tiny apartment and fixing a poached egg with dry toast.

Next door her neighbor's Coonhound dog scratches at the wall, snarling and snapping his teeth at God knows what. She pounds on the wall with the flat of her palm and screams obscenities next door, the dog is immediately silenced and Gillian resumes breakfast. "Thank you," she grumbles through a mouthful of running yolk and toast.

After a long shower and several outfit changes, Gillian shrugs on her pea coat and slips into a pair of espadrilles. She slings the strap of her courier bag over her shoulder, grabs her house keys off the rack, and closes the door behind herself. She ably avoids the landlord by taking the elevator down to the lobby and slithers out the door in one swift movement.

The New York City Subway is only a couple blocks down from her apartment building and it's quicker to get across town on it, rather then getting caught in a gridlock travelling by taxi. She takes the entrance to Broad Street station and carefully walks down the slippery steps, one hand on the paling and the other on the strap of her bag. Already late for work, Gillian picks up her pace and speed walks to the station attendant to pay her fare of 15 cents. Just as she prepares to step onto the 42nd Street Shuttle, her shoulder is tapped.

She turns around and faces two men, faces adorned with smiles. The smaller of the two is the first to speak out, "Hello, my dear. Would you mind if we could have a moment of your time?"

Gillian shakes her head. "I'm sorry, sir. I'm already late for work and this is the last shuttle until 2 o'clock, I really have to go."

"But, we'll just be a moment," the smaller man replies.

"I'm sorry." When Gillian turns to face the shuttle doors, they close in her face. She gasps when the shuttle itself heaves and gulps, bustling away down the line without Gillian on it. "Goddamn!" she shouts, throwing her arms in the air. "Thanks," Gillian says, her tone cold and cutting.

The taller man, face a bit more somber than before, claps his hands together in front of him. "Great, now we have time to talk."

"No, we don't." Gillian heaves her bag further onto her shoulder and turns sharply on her heel, avoiding eye contact with the two men and looking for the nearest exit on a turnstile. She climbs the stairs into the bright sunlight and hails a cab at the corner of Wall Street, hopping in and slamming the door shut behind her. "8th Avenue near Grand Central, please." And just as she had predicted, traffic picks up on the way, but she makes it to work in less than half an hour.

Her boss catches her on the way in, grabbing her shoulder as she tries to push past him. "An hour and a half late? Gillian, I have pulled so many strings for you, bent over backwards too frequently. The least you could do for me in return is come in on time."

"I know, CJ. I ran into some douche bags and they made me miss the shuttle, I had to take a cab here."

"You know," CJ begins, letting go of her arm and patting down her head of russet ringlets. "They made these wonderful things called cars. You really should invest in one." He takes her bag and throws a waist apron at her. "Get to work, I'll bring your bag to the back room. Give me your coat."

Gillian unfastens the buttons and slips out of her threads, quickly handing the pea coat to CJ. He soon disappears into the backroom with Gillian's things, leaving her tying back the apron and cleaning off counters at the bar with a tattered dishrag. She serves a few loutish men who ultimately get shooed out of the pub by CJ, menacing with a broom stick in his hands.

Gillian slaps her forehead when the two men from the subway station flit quickly into the pub, the shorter man holding the door open for the taller man. She quietly walks away into the back room, bumping into CJ on the way in.

"What the hell, Gillian? It's not your lunch break yet."

Her eyes are wild. "CJ, those two guys I told you about, remember? They're here. I think they followed me or something."

"Yeah, because they can _definitely_ follow a cab through NYC traffic," he sneers. "Stop bitching, get out there and serve the guys."

With a harsh shove, Gillian flies out the room and catches herself before falling. She brushes herself off and cracks her back, grabbing a notepad and walking over to the two men seated near the egress window at the other end of the bar. The pub is empty except for them.

"So, what would you like?" Gillian says as politely as possible.

"Hm," the shorter one hums. "I think I'll have your finest fire wine."

Gillian furrows her eyebrows together. "Fire wine? You mean brandy?" He nods. "Okay," she says, taking his order down on the pad. "And you, sir?"

"I'd actually just love to get this over with, Charles," the taller man says to the smaller man who Gillian then assumes to be Charles. "So if you wouldn't mind taking a seat beside Charles, we can begin."

"Excuse me?"

"I don't believe there was a falter in my words, Miss," the tall one snaps.

"Erik..." Charles sighs. "We don't want to scare the poor girl away, use your manners if you would."

Gillian tucks the ballpoint pen away into the hem of her apron and teeters back and forth on her heels. She watches them bicker and even considers making a break for the backroom again, knowing well enough that CJ would probably beat her into submission if she tried that again. Her eyebrows almost pleat together and she crosses her arms.

"You're already scaring me," Gillian replies.

"See, Erik," Charles murmurs. "Take it easy, will you please?"

"We've got things to do, Charles. We cannot waste time sitting here, ordering brandy and dissipating time drinking while waiting for her to comply," Erik says, his eyes alight.

"What the hell do you want?" Gillian shouts, the notepad flying away in the process of her tantrum. Charles is overwhelmed with the shambles of a young woman flailing and screaming vulgarities at him and Erik. "You stop me at the subway station and you come to my job? I mean, you_ obviously_ followed me here and only God knows how because someone sure as hell can't follow me through transit." Erik, utterly amused by Gillian's spectacle, smirks and crosses his arms over his chest. Gillian glares at him. "What? What the fuck is so funny?"

"Tell me," he begins, leaning in to look at her nametag. "_Gillian_, is it? Have you taken a look around lately?"

"What are you talking abou–" She halts, looking around to see everything slowing down. Time is slowing down. The dishrag on the counter is caught in mid-air. CJ's mouth agape, the rotary dial telephone cord ensnared between his fingers, microphone pressed against his homespun lips. Most important of all is that the outside world – which is always teeming with life and simmering in the fall weather – is practically asleep. Everyone is stock-still, suspended in their own movement. "What the... hell?"

Charles clears his throat. "Care to have a seat, Ms. Moore?"

Gillian slowly lowers herself into the seat beside Charles. "Who are you? How do you keep finding me?" She forgets to ask how Charles knows her last name. Charles is ready to shake her hand when she stops him. "None of that commission handshake bullshit. I just want to know who you are and why you keep pursuing me so devotedly."

Erik gets more comfortable in his seat and pulls at the sleeves of his oxhide jacket. "My name is Erik Lensherr and this is my dear friend Charles Xavier. Since we have wasted time over useless squabbling, I'll put it to you like this, Gillian. To make a very long and tiring story short," he says, leaning over the table a bit to further grasp her attention. "We're like you."

Gillian rolls her eyes, gently tweaking her skin between her thumb and index finger. "Yes, thank you so much. You have definitely just cleared things up for me."

Erik snarls and opens his mouth to speak when Charles interrupts him. "To be less vague, dear, we know that you harness abilities. Special abilities."

_He's insane. How could he know about that?_ Gillian thinks.

Charles smirks slyly and cocks his head. _Maybe a tad bit daft in some cases, but, insane? No._

"You're in my head." It's more of a statement than a question, left ringing in her ears and in the surrounding area. "Why are you in my head?"

"Ms. Moore–"

"Gillian. Gillian, Gill, anything but Ms. Moore, please."

"Okay, Gillian. As you have probably already ciphered, I am a telepath. I can communicate with you mentally, put a hindrance on time, even see and feel your memories if I so choose. Erik, here, can–"

"I'd rather show her myself, Charles," Erik says.

Charles puts his hands up in defense and ushers for Erik to stage his adroitness. Erik raises his hand and at first nothing happen, Charles puts a finger to his lips, knowing that Gillian is about to crack an insolent remark on him. There's are clicking sound in her mouth and and uncomfortable shifting, she opens wide as the barbell and metal bead to her tongue piercing float out. Her eyes are bulging and she watches the bead and barbell bob in the air in front of her. Erik grins, moving his hand. The metal pries open her lips, reverberates against her cuspids, and fastens itself back into her tongue.

"Metal manipulation," she whispers, still astonished and absent-mindedly fiddling with the cloisonné beads on her necklace.

"Yes. And we know that you too are encompassed by a mutation," Charles replies. Gillian looks at him, starry eyed. "You can deny it all you want, Gillian, but we know."

"So what do you want then?"

"We're recruiting a team of mutants for a new section of the CIA, Division X. I can later inform you of our mission, seeing as we are losing time at the moment." Gillian looks back at the still-suspended dishrag and unmoving CJ in the corner. "But, I will tell you one thing, I can help you. I can aid you in further controlling your abilities, if you will let me."

She ties her hair up in a bun, strands falling out into her face. "Ever since I was 13-years-old, I knew how much of a menace I was to society." Gillian doesn't look at Erik or Charles. "I know how much peril I could cause without it even being_ intentional_ sometimes, and you're offering to help me. There's no way I could ever turn that down."

Charles and Erik smile at each other, then at Gillian. "Great," Erik says. While the world remains comatose, Gillian gathers her things and Charles leads her to the car, unfreezing everything on the way.


	3. CHAPTER TWO

The car ride feels endless. When Gillian isn't back talking Erik with surly quips from the backseat, trying to gouge his eyes out, or stopped in her attempts to throttle him, she careens drowsily towards the window pane with folded eyelids, blue-green orbs rusted from sleep deprivation. The dented Chevrolet runs over cavities in the road and Gillian bumps her head on the glass, she hisses sharply and massages her temple. It's quiet except for a set of keys in the shifter tray and the wind blowing in from the opened sun roof, creating a tempest of carmine hair.

Charles is driving and has the headlights on low beam, breaking up the patchy fog and slabs of darkness ahead of them. Erik's eyes are trained on the road and he remains unmoving in his seat. Charles clears his throat, glancing into the rear-view mirror. "So, where are you from, Gillian?" he asks, breaking the unremitting silence.

She unstraps herself to get settled on the car seat behind Charles against her courier bag. "I was born in Illinois and moved to upstate New York when I was 5."

"Oh, very nice," Charles replies. "As a child I lived in Westchester County, smothered by my mother and father in prosperity and luxuries that I had no use for." He laughs and it doesn't have the buoyancy or happiness found in his sapphire eyes, it's a sad, dry laugh. "What part of Illinois did you say you were from?"

Gillian pushes the hair off of her neck and begins plaiting it over her shoulder. "Chicago." She smiles at his hypnotic eyes in the rear-view mirror and he smiles back at her. "Best deep-dish pizza you will ever eat in your _life_, Charles," Gillian jeers, still focused on finishing the slipshod braid running down her chest. "Unless you're allergic to cornmeal, like my mother. I felt so sorry for her because my face would be _stuffed_ with cheese and meat and peppers, grease dripping down my chin. And she would just sit there, drinking from her soda like she wasn't completely envious of me."

Charles' laugh this time is warm and hearty. "No allergies to cornmeal at all, my immune system is stout," he says, tapping his stomach.

"Well, then, after this _operation_ is completed, we'll have to go some time. Deal?" Gillian asks, her eyes unyielding from the plait over her distending collarbone.

"Deal."

"Charles," Erik grunts. "We're fighting a war here, and all you can think about is daubed deep-dish pizza?" He shakes his head and crosses his arms, Gillian mocks him in the backseat so that Charles can see her in the mirror. He fights back his amusement and represses a laugh in his fauces.

"I could really do without you being a stick in the mud, Erik," Gillian says, stressing her voice to fit Erik's accent. "Charles and I were simply having a modest conversation, no need to get your undesirables in a bunch."

Erik heaves a long sigh and lays back into his seat. "Well, feel free to continue your _modest_ conversation with Charles." His eyelids flutter slightly before he closes them completely and reclines his seat back. "And just so you know, Gillian," he contests. "You have got my accent all wrong. Merely putting far too much emphasis on the enunciation."

Gillian and Charles gush forth in a fit of ridiculous laughter, Gillian holding her sides and even snorting occasionally. "I'll try harder to perfect my enunciation then." Gillian reaches into her bag and pulls out a tissue, blotting her eyes. "I'm sorry that I tried to render you completely blind, Erik. You started it when you called me dumb. Dense, incredibly. But dumb, no."

Charles elbows Erik when he doesn't say anything. "I forgive you, Gillian. And I _suppose_ I must apologize too if we are to work together down the road."

"Oh, Erik forgives me. Erik _forgives_ me," Gillian laughs, reaching up to the passenger's seat to filch Erik's cheek between her thumb and index finger. At first he does nothing because it's a cutesy gesture, but she begins pinching and he swats her hand away like a crane fly.

"We can be on good terms, as long as you don't ever pinch my cheeks again."

Gillian nods. "Will do." The car ride is quiet for a moment until Charles turns on the radio. Gillian flounders in her seat, trying to keep quiet for the remainder of the ride. Charles drives through a junction and steers the car onto a thruway. A few minutes later Gillian's voice chimes over the canonical music coming from the radio. "Are we there yet? I really have to use the ladies room."

"One more stop, then we arrive at the facility." Almost as soon as Charles finishes his sentence, the car pulls up to a curb.

Gillian leans over to look out of the window and reads the ruddy, blinking sign. _Cesious_. "They probably have a bathroom in there," she whispers to herself, opening the door.

"Gillian, stay in the car!" Erik screams, grabbing for her arm.

She shuts the door and bolts for the building, pushing through a crowd of men wearing fedoras and ascot caps awaiting entrance. Gillian finally gets inside and slows her pace, immediately realizing why Erik wanted her to stay in the car. The lights are golden and there's a huge stage wrapped around the bar with leafless women treading the platform in cone heels. This is a club, a _gentlemen's_ club, a _strip _club.

A pudgy man with an imperial mustache flashes her a toothy smile, shuffling towards her with several other men in tow. "Say, miss, do you work here? I'm sure you're _very_ pliable." His friends share a jolly laugh and sip from their flasks.

"Come again?" Gillian asks, hands brazenly on her haunches.

"I said," he leans in closer, taking a puff of his European cigar. "Do you work here? If so, I'd _love_ to compensate for your services."

Erik and Charles run up beside her, Charles gently laying his hand on her forearm. "Gillian," he begins, heaving and struggling to breathe. "You can't just run off like that."

"No worries, Charles." She turns to the thick-bodied man in front of her. "I was just telling this man that I have a raging vaginal infection from bedding several different gentlemen at this _very_ club, but any other night I'd be glad to display my elasticity," she says, scornfully biting her tongue and letting out the slightest giggle.

Erik ties down a chuckle and Charles feigns surprise. The man, taken aback and choking on his liquor, grunts and motions for his lot to follow him. "Geez, Eric, you couldn't have binded me down to the backseat with the seat belt clasps?" Frightened almost, she puts a hand on Charles shoulder, making room for a scantily clad woman to walk by with a platter on her shoulder. "Now I see why you were so quick to keep me away from here."

"Why don't you wait in the car?" Erik asks.

Gillian nods. "Though I must say," she starts, loosening her grip on Charles and beginning to walk away. "I didn't _at all_ take you two for the rubberneck gentlemen's club type."

"Ten minutes," says Charles through a smile, dogtooth and incisors showing.

"Ten minutes," Gillian mocks, pointing a finger at him and Erik. She gets outside and climbs back into the car, fumbling with the lint in her pockets. "Ten minutes," she whispers. A couple minutes later, Erik and Charles walk out of the club leading a woman. Erik motions for Gillian to slide over as he opens the door, the girl slips into the seat next to her. "Eight minutes, nice job, guys."

Charles starts the car, leans back over the shifter tray and armrest, and gestures to the dark-haired girl. "Gillian, this is Angel. Angel, Gillian."

"This one is a talker, Angel," says Erik from the passenger's seat.

Gillian gives him the finger. "Fuck off."

"Good terms, Gillian. Good terms."

"Just because we're on good terms doesn't mean I can't stick my foot up your ass once in a while."

"And we're off," Charles quickly declares, pulling off of the storm drain.


	4. CHAPTER THREE

It keeps getting darker and darker outside and the oxidized headlights can't withstand the dead of night only brightened by dull twilight. Charles' billowing eyes strain to stay open and everyone can see that he's a bit jaded being behind the steering column, the car even veers off the road several times. Erik – incensed or just feeling empty? – finally offers to take the wheel and Charles is out cold almost as soon as he nestles himself into the passenger's seat. Charles snores in his sleep, but it's soft and consoling.

They come to a grinding halt at a service plaza so that Gillian can finally use the ladies room and Angel decides to go with her. After ten minutes of restroom talk and procuring jawbreakers and sea-salt chips, the girls climb back into the car and Erik drives off onto the interstate. "We should be there in no more than five minutes," Eric knells from the front seat.

Gillian high-fives Angel and they loll across the back seat, Angel throwing her legs atop Gillian's. "Angel, can I ask you a question?" Gillian asks, leaning her head on the ritzy, velvet-like seat.

"Shoot," Angel grins.

"The question itself is a little invasive, I was wondering how many tasteless, compulsive, crazy men you've encountered at _Cesious_?" At first, Gillian feels like she shouldn't have even asked because of Angel's shocked expression, but she softens up and laughs.

Angel smiles, tapping her chin dubiously. "Well, there is this _one_ guy who comes in every week on the same day just to stare at my chest all night long. He has this weird mustache that's curled up to his nose and I think he deliberately makes it that way. I think his name is Arnold."

Gillian's eyes go wide. "Does he look like an oversized Charlie Chaplin? Slightly balding?" She gestures to the crown of her head. "Retreating hairline? Might have a pack of his laughing chums making a halo of plesantly plump fellows around him."

"That's him!"

Gillian narrows her eyes and ricks a ringlet of hair around her ring finger, deep in thought. "Hm, he looks like an Arnold." She knits her arms together behind her head. "I think I should've told him that Charles cheapened me and capitalizes from my work, you know, like a gigolo. Maybe he would've left me alone then."

Charles chokes on a mouthful of water and saliva, imbibing the froth on his shirt with a handkerchief. "Why must you be so filthy, Gillian?"

Her mind doesn't hold the question in abeyance for too long, Gillian simply shrugs. "It's who I am."

"We're here! We're here!" Erik half-whispers, pulling into a shale-covered driveway right up to a building as tall as a beanstalk. Intense, keen-edged flexures, smoky windows, bright green grass (even though it was difficult to notice in the thickness of night).

Angel's unhinged jaw makes Erik and Charles smile. "This place is amazing!"

Gillian rolls her eyes slightly. "Great," she lugs the sigh from deep in her lungs. "_Totally_ inconspicuous."

"You don't like it?" Charles asks.

"No, it's not that. Believe me, I think it's beautiful. But don't you think it's a bit like throwing up a red flare?" She removes the elastic hair tie and scratches at the prickling in her scalp, brushing away a cluster of henna curls.

They begin walking into the building, Charles beside Gillian and Erik beside Angel. "You are never satisfied, are you?"

"Not true!" Gillian bilks. "I'm content when I get my pay check, I'm content when my neighbor's dog is quiet–"

Charles stops her. "I didn't say _content_, I said _satisfied_, _happy_? Are you ever happy, Gillian?" There is no humor in his response. He has pulled on his poker face and his lips are tugged into a weighty smile but there is no emotion behind it. It's a solemn smile that forces Gillian to rehash her antiquity and time immemorial.

Only as a cherub in her mother's warm embrace had she been happy, flushed cheeks and tickled pink beneath loving fingers. Maybe even those times she had spent wobbling around in big girl clothes – what was the name of the damn enterprise that gave her mother discounts on everything? – that she practically swam in. Sincerity always (and faithfully) increments rectitude.

Gillian can feel Charles in her head, leaving gentle thumbprints on her memories. She rips his hand from his temple and throws it down to his side, never loosening her grip on his wrist. "Stay the _fuck_–" she purposely sputters on his face. "Out of my _head_. Those are my thoughts."

Charles, curious, albeit ashamed, nods his head and averts his gaze. He wipes the froth off of his face and leads everyone to a desk with pounds and pounds of paperwork. Gillian's features soften and she quietly apologizes to Charles before starting the paperwork with Angel. When they finish ten or so minutes later, a pretty woman with dark hair and dark eyes approaches them and introduces herself as Moira MacTaggert.

Moira catches a whiff of tension and after an awkward moment of silence she grates the bottom of her shoe on the carpet. "So, Charles, now would be a good time to introduce these ladies to the other recruits, eh?"

"Yes, Moira, now would be an excellent time," Charles replies, placing his hand on the small of Gillian's back and as everyone walks on he leans next to her ear. "I shall atone for what I have done. I need you to know that you can trust me and I will only probe your mind at your own will."

"I don't think I'll be asking for a _probe_ any time soon," she whispers, almost laughing.

Moira pushes open a door at the end of a long hallway and leads everyone inside. There are five people already there, lounging on the couches and laughing. Charles clears his throat and they all turn around to face him, he slaps his hand down on Gillian and Angel's shoulders. "These are the last of them, and I trust that you will _all_ treat them and each other with respect. We need to be a team if the goal is to ever be achieved. Understood?"

Everyone nods. A girl with ochre hair rushes over to hug Charles, afterwards leading Gillian and Angel to the ottomans as Charles, Erik, and Moira leave the room.

"So," she begins. "I'm Raven. This is Hank, that's Darwin and Sean, and Alex on this chair over here." Her finger follow a counter-clockwise sequence.

"I'm Angel," Angel yips. "And this is–"

"Gillian."

Sean raises an eyebrow, smirks, and aptly pets his lap. "Well, Gillian, why don't you come have a seat right here? You look pretty squished on that couch and I'm sure I could make room for you."

"Usually, boys who put forth such a proposal at the pub end up with a nice shiner and fucking mashed potatoes for testicles," Gillian hisses, hands on the bolster of the ottoman. "So your answer to that question is _hell _no." Everyone's eyes are as wide as nodules, Sean gasps and protectively places his hand on his genitalia. Darwin laughs and begins clapping, eventually everyone except Sean follows suit. "Why are you clapping?"

"Because someone finally shut him up," Darwin replies.

Alex chuckles and juts his thumb out in Gillian's direction. "I think I've taken a liking to this girl already."

Gillian wants to point out that her name isn't 'girl', but she's too busy trying to cool her reddening cheeks, praying that no one can see her blushing. But Alex does and nonchalantly leans back in his chair, winking at her. There was no doubt that this boy was handsome, face very becoming and smile faultless. "I try to impress."

Darwin shuffles a deck of cards. "Well, what'dya say to a card game, Gillian?"

"The only card game I know is 'Go Fish', and I haven't played that in ages." The entirety of the room gasps, Darwin and Raven rushing over to teach her how to play contact bridge which she quickly dismisses.

"Why don't we play Eleusis?" Hank asks. "You don't need to know much, it's all inductive logic."

Alex cocks his head and looks at Hank, almost straining his eyes. "Why don't you speak English to us? Okay, Big Foot?"

_Wha_–? _How could a boy so handsome be such a jerk? _Gillian thinks.

Sean stifles a laugh and Alex's face elongates as he sits back and smiles. Hank immediately shuts up and shrinks into his seat, flustered and embarrassed, Raven awkwardly grazing his knee with her gangling fingers. Gillian's mouth goes slack and she turns to the sandy-haired boy in the club chair. "Why don't _you_ shut the fuck up? Because, trust me, you have not _seen_ Satan until you've gotten me riled up. I've been through too much today and I could really do without you sitting over there being a bumbling idiot." Alex is speechless like everyone else. "And just so you know, inductive logic is something similar to an analysis that assembles or assesses preliminary arguments. Or, in _English_, if I did an experiment and I had 4 _kitties_ and all of them could purr, I would assume that since all 4 observed _kitties_ purred, all _kitties_ purr. Yeah?"

The room is cloaked in a blanket of stillness. "Oh...my..._God_," Raven breathes, cracking a smile.

"So, Hank, how about you explain Eleusis to me now? It sounds like the type of game that I actually have a chance of winning," Gillian says. Hank closes his hanging mouth and stares blankly at her, circling the table (avoiding Alex) and taking a seat beside her.

Gillian, Hank, Raven, Angel, Darwin, and Sean play Eleusis 6 times while Alex sits out, still stunned. Hank wins 3 times, Gillian wins twice, and Sean even wins once, although everyone was convinced that he had been cheating.

It's something like midnight and Raven shows Gillian to a little room with a futon, a dresser, and a bathroom. "It's not much, but it'll do."

Gillian turns to Raven. "As long as there's a bed, I really don't care." Raven laughs and Gillian hoists her bag further onto her shoulder. "Goodnight Raven, see you tomorrow." Raven disappears down the hall and just as Gillian is about to enter the bedroom, someone bulldozes her into the paneling and she drops her courier bag. Her eyes dart to Alex's face, his eyes occluded, clenched fists on either side of her face. He further backs her up into the wall where she props her head up, easing up against his body flat against hers. "What are you doing, Alex?"

"You," he grumbles. "You made me look like an _idiot_."

"You were out of line so I put you back in your place. I can't make you look like something you already are," she chuckles, putting her arms out defensively.

"Don't fucking _laugh_ at me."

He still hasn't opened his eyes and she can see his flushed face quickly turn red with anger. Gillian squeezes her eyes shut as Alex jabs the wall on her right two times, pulling back a grisly, constricted fist, oozing blood onto the floor and Gillian's coat. "You're bleeding."

He looks about ready to dissolve in his tears. "I know," he seethes.

Alex doesn't move from his spot, pushed against Gillian, his mouth breathing hot air into her ear. "You're _bleeding_, on _me_. So, move?" She pushes, but he won't budge. Gillian manages to get free once, but Alex just hurls her back into the paneling. "What the fuck, Alex?"

A door down the hallway cracks open and out walks Sean, scratching at his monstrosity of messy curls. He blinks a few times and cranes his neck. "Alex? Gillian? What's going on? Is everything alright?"

Alex finally looks into her eyes and she searches his eyes for something, anger, shame, indiscretion, _something_. "Everything's fine, Sean," she says with faults in her words. Alex slams the wall with both hands and storms away, fumes seemingly coming from his ears. Sean stumbles over to Gillian and closely examines her, jokingly lifting up the weight of her ringlets to make sure everything is in place. "I'm fine, Sean," she laughs.

"Just checking," he says defensively. "He didn't hurt you, did he?"

"Only bled on me a little. I, honest to everything that is holy, thought that he was ready to punch me right in my fucking face." She places a hand on his shoulder. "Thanks for waking up."

"Does this mean I'm forgiven?" he asks, spreading his arms out for a hug.

She envelops him in an embrace, softly and slowly bringing her knee to rest under his loins. He shrieks quietly and his voice is several octaves higher than before, although still managing to be a whisper. "WHAT are you DOING!"

"I wasn't kidding about the whole mashed potatoes thing, touch my ass again and I swear I'll make it happen, Sean." He takes his hands off of her backside and backs away down the hall. "Goodnight, Sean."

"Goodnight, Gillian. If you need me again, I'll be asleep, holding a bowl to my testicles."


	5. CHAPTER FOUR

Gillian wakes with a start, hands frantically searching for the gooseneck lamp somewhere by the futon she's on. Hampered in a cluster of sheets, she turns on the lamp and the tiny halogen bulb illuminates the room in a flood of brilliance. She touches the fitted bed sheet, realizing that for – she looks around to find an analog clock on the wall – five hours she had been churning in a puddle of her own perspiration.

It's the same dream every time, same story, different spectrum and an ever-changing cliffhanger. There are still convulsions and those small slabs of human gist all over an unsullied lawn, a man watching, and vapor clouding the thick air. Gillian can never put it all together, besides the convulsions and meat on a grassplot which unmistakably represents Gillian. But whose lawn is it? Who is that man? What is that moisture in the air?

She shakes it off and pushes herself off of the futon. Gillian stands up and peels off her sticky, cropped tee-shirt, leaving her only in a pair of shorts and a brassiere. Without even thinking she worms her way out the door and continues on down the hallway, eventually getting herself completely lost somewhere in the pith of the facility. The ceiling lights are always on and every hallway looks the same as the last.

"Hello?" she whispers, her voice gravelly. "If anyone can hear me, I think I'm lost. Every hallway is identical, I can't even tell if I'm back at the southeast corridor or..."

She can hear something that sounds like a sprocket turning. A door opens somewhere and Hank appears several seconds later with his mousy brown hair in unruliness, white tee-shit creased like he used it as a paper airplane. He scratches his head and yawns, rubbing his eyes underneath his glasses. "Something wrong, Gillian?" he asks, stunned to see her practically in the raw. He ably avoids looking at her bust even though temptation threatens to.

Her bedroom eyes cloudy and red, she looks at him. "My clothes are gross and my sheets are slippery, I don't know who to go to for new things. I didn't get a chance to bring clothes with me, some CIA guy in black gave me these shorts and a tee-shirt."

"I'd rather you just take this for right now," he says, nervously paring off his bone white shirt and holding it out for Gillian to wear. Hank has a surprisingly nice physique: adequate chest, good-sized muscles, spoor of light hairs running from his navel into his pajama pants. He clears his throat at her wandering eyes. "Gillian?"

She disentangles her thoughts and takes the shirt, slipping it on over her head. It's a little bit big on her, but fitting. "Geez, Hank. People might get the wrong idea and think you ravished me right on the work table in your laboratory."

His mouth drops. "Wha-what?"

"I'd definitely go along with it, though." She winks at him. "All scientists are sexually frustrated." For a moment he's stuck there, aghast and only slight offended. "I kid, I kid. Come on, Hank. Linen closet?"

Hank gulps. "Right, linen closet."

They take many hallways and eventually come to a door in a foyer adjacent to a sauna and washroom. Hank pulls it open and scoops up a pile of bedding in his arms, handing it all to Gillian who's arms are already out. She begins walking away, but remembers that she got lost walking no more then 40 steps from her bedroom. So Hank leads her back around bends and corners, up stairs and then down stairs. "It's a shortcut."

"Are you sure?" Gillian groans, dragging her feet and the bed linens on the floor. "It feels longer than the way we first came."

Then Hank opens a door and Gillian can't tell which room they just walked into. It's a very large room, plentifully bestrewn with tapestry, folding chairs lined up against the wall by a fixed window, Gillian thinks it could be a mess hall, but quickly takes the emptiness into consideration. But she notices someone in the corner, gathered up on one of the folding chairs with bloody knuckles.

Gillian gasps and pulls Hank back outside. She turns around to him, sticking her finger in her chest. "You lied to me! What do you think you're doing?"

"He's been moping all night, I found him in here and couldn't find the courage to talk to him." Hank looks at the ceramic tiles covering the floor. "I can't do it, Gillian. He..._frightens_ me."

"And you want me to talk to him!" she whispers angrily.

"You're the one that called him out."

"To protect you! Remember?" Hank shrivels away, folding in on himself. "I'm sorry, Hank. I'll _try_ to talk to him, only because you're extremely cute and those beautiful eyes bait me." He tries to hide the blush quailing onto his cheeks, Gillian tweaks his jowl between two fingers and tugs at his skin. Hank nervously slaps her hand away, forcing a strained smile onto his face.

"Thanks, Gillian. I'd hate to have him asphyxiate the both of us in our sleep."

She shrugs. "No problem."

"Just one question, though." He looks down at his exposed chest and gestures to his white tee-shirt.

Gillian gives a brassy shake of the head. "If I have to talk to him, I keep the shirt." With that, she hauls the bedding in her arms along with her into the room, making her way to the niche that Alex has crammed himself into. "Um, hi."

Alex looks up at her and his first instinct is to drill her in the jaw, he even draws together all of his fingers into a fist. But something in him refrains it. He only grumbles sotto voce to himself and looks back down at his raw hands, Gillian realizes that he has been busy puncturing the impediment all around, gaping holes in every wall.

"Hank told me he found you in here, he wanted someone to check on you," Gillian says timidly.

He scoffs, "So he sent you?"

"It would seem so," she laughs with a sharp eye roll. "I can see that you're still bleeding."

"It would _seem_ so."

Gillian furrows her eyebrows, heaving the bed sheets up and tossing the eiderdown over her shoulder. "You almost punched me in the face, you know? Your eyes were red and your face was red, you looked like the Devil or something."

"I don't know why I didn't, probably should've."

"Thanks," she groans sarcastically.

He scowls at her. "You're a bitch."

She nods, tolerant of his answer. "Fair enough, fair enough. But you should probably learn to control that anger, anger gets the better of you, dominates your sense of judgement."

"And what the _fuck_ do you know?" Alex hisses, standing up and walking over to her. He towers Gillian, making her look like a bag of cuboids and flexors compared to his frame. The folding chairs behind her dig into her back and she can't do anything but look up into his eyes and she still sees nothing in them, she thought maybe anger for sure, but finds nothing. "What's stopping me from driving my fist into your mouth right now? How do you know I can _control_ my anger now?"

"Because," Gillian swallows. "Because I'd scream. And I'm too pretty."

"Beautiful," Alex pules. She's surprised at the quickness of his response.

Her insides foam and churn like a washing machine, it feels like her stomach has dropped. An inelegant silence fills the air, that time spent searching each others faces and awkwardly holding their arms at their sides. "So," Gillian begins. "Does that mean you won't punch me and bestow unsightliness upon a darling little face?"

"As long as you keep your wisecracks to yourself, I don't think we'll have a problem."

Gillian slowly puts a trembling hand to her heart. "I'll try my hardest." She doesn't really mean it because wisecracks and drollery are her entire makeup, but if it keeps her from getting punched in the face then so be it. "Are we friends now?" Her replies come out fast because she's afraid and his thermal reading is probably off the charts. "If not friends, then colleagues? Associates?"

He backs off of her. "Friends, if you can handle it."

"Only if you can apologize for that fucking body check back in the southeast corridor."

"Only if you can apologize for calling me a fucking idiot."

She puts her finger out. "I didn't called you a 'fucking idiot', I called you a 'bumbling idiot'." Gillian sighs, "But I'm sorry. I'm a naturally impolite person."

"I'm sorry, too, I guess. I've always been a–"

"Douche bag." Gillian nods her head at the floor, not bothering to look at him. "Sorry, you were saying?"

He exhales slowly. "I was gonna say 'jerk', but I guess 'douche bag' works too."

"Yeah, it does," she yips. His glare is like ten thousand bayonets stabbing Gillian in the face. "Well, I'm going back to sleep." She hales the eiderdown and bed sheets across the needle felt carpeting, almost tripping once but catching herself before coming close to the ground. She gripes, hoping that Hank is still outside so that she won't lose her way around the building again. If it came to, she'd probably sleep in the hallway until morning when someone would most likely find her snuggled into the ritzy comforter against the wall.

"Gillian," Alex calls just as she approaches the door.

She blows a curl out of her eye. "Yes?"

"Is something going on with you and Hank?" he asks. "I mean, you're wearing his tee-shirt." There's a hint of resentfulness and spite in his words, and it makes Gillian grin.

"If only," she replies dramatically with wavering hands and all. She walks outside and finds Hank waiting with a crisp, granite-colored tee shirt for her, holding it out and motioning for her to take his off. She drops the load of bedding and slips out of Hank's tee-shirt, handing it to him, taking the new one and putting it on. "Thanks."

"No problem. How'd it go?"

Gillian shrugs her shoulders, lifting up the bed sheets again. "It went alright, we're cool now, I guess. I did think he was gonna punch me in the face, though."

"He didn't touch you, did he! He didn't hurt you!" Hank half-whispers, half-shouts.

She muddles over to Hank, placing a hand on his shoulder and shaking him. "He didn't touch me, Hank. I'm fine. I said we're cool, didn't I?"

He nods, calming down a bit. "We should go back to your room now."

Gillian smirks, raising her eyebrows. "_We_ should go back to my room?" Her voice is tastefully lowered and a bit dry. "Hank, you _animal_."

Hank's eyes swell and he defensively puts his hands out, quick with a reply to avouch himself from the situation. "No! No! No! That's not what I meant! I just wanted to take you back to your room and–"

"Sexually entice me?" Gillian waggles her eyebrows. She assumes that Hank knows that she's joking, but then he starts blubbering and evaporating in his trail of dolefully shed, bitter tears, choking on the froth lassoed in his throat. He tries to keep quiet and attempts to steady his quivering hands, but the moisture from his eyes runs in rivulets down his skin and threadlike lips. "Oh my God, Hank! I'm so sorry! You don't have to cry! I don't know what I did, but I'm sorry anyway!" His breathing goads and Gillian drops the counterpane and sheets, putting her hands on his shoulders and quickly patting his face, forcing him to look at her. "Hank, listen to me. You need to calm down, your face is flushed and you're shaking like a pair of fucking marracas."

"Stop!" he shouts, pushing Gillian away from him. "Stop it! Stop it with the teasing and the intimacy jokes! Everyone always mocks and derides me and thinks that it's funny but it hurts." His nostrils are flared, his shoulders slump, and he fixes his glasses. "Why do you think I stay in my lab all the time?" Hank hisses. "So that I don't have to be around all of these CIA fucktards."

Gillian never knew such blasphemy could come from Hank's mouth. Her mouth hangs ajar, no one had ever made her speechless for this long. "I–I, I'm sorry, Hank. I really am."

Now guilty, Hank wipes his eyes and thinks about touching her on the shoulder. "I'm sorry too, I've never yelled like that before. You think Alex heard that?"

"Probably not. I can tell that you were trying to whisper."

Hank nods his head slowly. "Should I take you back to your room now?"

"Yeah, that's a good idea." She picks up the fitted sheets and Hank picks up the duvet, both start down the hallway and Gillian pats Hank on the small of his back, smiling up at him. "I think some of Alex might've rubbed off on you back there, I was expecting a fist to the nose."


	6. CHAPTER FIVE

**I'm so sorry for the month-long wait for the next chapter! Work has me so busy and family drama is crazy and I've barely been on the internet! This is more like a filler than anything else, but I promise to try and make the following chapter more exciting.**

* * *

><p>When Gillian wakes up the next morning her sheets are dry and her shirt is dry. She pushes herself off the futon, stretching and stifling a quiet yawn beneath her hand, cupped against her mouth. It's almost humid but not quite, at least the cottonpoly blend isn't sticking to the small of her back or head hair pasted down against her neck.

Her stomach grumbles and it's not like 'it's the morning, my stomach always growls', it's more like 'I haven't eaten in years, I'm so hungry!' grumbling. So she scratches at the nape of her neck and flicks on the pretty crystalline ceiling fan just to have the light. Gillian takes one more sharp-eyed look at the room, duvet over-turned, sheets a mess along the black carpet, and somehow manages a small smile before leaving what feels more like "closet space" than a bedroom.

The migraine she went to sleep with is gone now and it's a lot easier to handle all of the light and sound reverbrating off of the walls and skylights. There are no wall clocks around so she can't really tell what time it is, but there is a glittering sun outside and a blue sky, so it must be the before noon. But more importantly, before lunch.

Gillian drags her feet along the carpet and her socks make a grating sound along the floor. She rasps Sean's door with a knuckle – waiting a few toe-tapping seconds – and ruffles his shaggy hair when he finally opens it. His eyes can barely stay ringent for more than a moment before they begin closing again.

"Breakfast?" Gillian asks, rubbing her stomach in large circles.

That is all it takes. Maybe it's the idea of military slop or cuisine that does it, but Sean's eyes fly open and he nods his dizzy head. He takes her hand and (almost figuratively) drags her behind him as he takes loops and flexures and different corridors until they reach an open vestibule. It's where her and Angel came in through last night and met Moira, she figures. It's nicer in the light than it is struggling to see in the dark. Gillian pries Sean's hands off and follows him back to a mess hall where everyone is hustling and bustling for the last piece of sowbelly.

Both of them quickly grab a piece of bone china and get on line, filling their plates with runny eggs, toast, biscuits, bagels, croissants, and anything else that they set their eyes on. When they both have a cup of orange juice on their trays, they wait at the juice bar, scanning the hall for a table. Raven's waving hands and blonde hair can be seen from afar, so they carefully maneuver themselves around everyone until they reach the table.

"Jesus! You two are a bunch of pigs! You've filled your plates like you haven't been fed since your mothers stopped lactating," Angel bellows, slamming her hands down on the table.

Darwin places a reassuring hand on her shoulder, only shaking her slightly. "It's no big deal, Angel. Let them eat. We're young, we've got time to burn it all off."

"Yeah, Angel," Gillian begins, browned bread hanging from her opened mouth. "I've got time to burn all of this off." She grabs a piece of bacon and wiggles it in her face. "I can burn this off with a couple reps of lifting dumbbells and doing crunches on an excercise ball or something."

Sean nods frantically, "I can do some push-ups too."

"Or some barbell shoulder presses," Gillian replies. "Might need some assistance with that, though."

Sean groans, egg yolk dripping from his chin. "Yup, listen to the lady."

Angel goes back to taking small bites of her English muffin in silence. Raven pokes around her waffle, moving the butter around across its pores and occasionally drenching it in maple syrup. Hank percisely slices fruit on his tray, Darwin chomps at his glazed doughnut, and Alex chews on something that looks like a bagel.

"Oh my _God_," Gillian says through a toast-filled orifice.

"What?" Everyone is mostly in unison with their reply.

"Do you _smell_ what I am smelling?" She asks, giving Sean a hopeful look. "Please tell me that you can smell what I am smelling right now."

"What do you _smell_?" Angel asks.

She takes a deep breath, a smile yanking her lips upward. "Hummus."

Commence a miffed groan from Angel. Something like "fat" tumbles from her slightly closed lips and she looks down, prodding that muffin with a manicured fingernail. Gillian knows that she isn't the only one who heard it when several heads bob up from their downturned postition eyeing their food.

"She's not fat, Angel," Alex retorts, his first words spoken all morning. Gillian is shocked, extremely shocked. They _did_ in fact have their 'heart-to-heart' last night and seemed to reach each other, but everything just happens so quickly. "Hungry does not equal fat. Not everyone is built like a goddamn twig."

Gillian wipes the corner of her lip with a napkin and places it down onto the table. "I don't know if I should be offended or surprised or poised or something. I mean, I expected a comment like that to come from someone, but what I didn't expect was such, such..._ venom_!" She says it with a chuckle instead of an acidic drip. "It could be your time of the month or maybe you just turn your back like that to everyone. I don't know! Whatever _that_ just was, though, I'm going to ignore it." No one says anything after she stops talking, Gillian just cleans up her space and gets up to leave. Sean tugs at her hand and pleads for her to stay, he smells like country ham and salmon croquettes. "I have to shower, Sean!"

"No, no, no! Stay and enjoy these hash browns! They're sweet and delicious!" he shouts, trying to pull her into his lap while shoving a fork into her face.

She swats his fork out of his hand and playfully punches his arm. "I'll see you all later." Gillian mouths a 'thank you' to Alex and walks away, avoiding all personnel.

No one really knows what to say to Angel, or say anything at all. She looks a tad bit ashamed of herself, it could just be indigestion although the English muffin couldn't have done much to screw something up. Darwin is the first to leave, pretty soon everyone else has filed out of the mess hall because people started to stare.

Gillian finds her way to the showers after asking around for a long time. The room is basically just tons of shower stalls along two walls and sere towels hanging on racks lined up at the entrance.

Gillian removes her ankle socks to avoid getting them wet from the porcelain tiles. She finds a stall at the back and checks to make sure no one else is around before she steps inside, paring the threads from her skin and draping them across the shower rod. When she turns on the water it's cold, but then it warms up and runs in beads down her body. The soap smells something like pomegranate although it could also be grapefruit, either way it's extremely strong and fruity.

It's about half an hour before she turns the water off and steps out with a towel wrapped around her and the dirty clothes in her hands. Another shower turns off somewhere in the room and she searches through several stalls to figure out which one it was. When she can't exactly gauge what's going on, she gives up and turns around to head back towards the exit. Only, when Gillian turns around she slams into someone else and accidentally drops her towel onto the floor.

"Don't look! Don't look! Don't you fucking open your eyes, Alex!" she shouts, grabbing for her towel on the ground and pulling it around herself.

"Wow," he says, smiling with his hands over his eyes. "We haven't even known each other for a day and I've already had the pleasure of seeing you completely naked."

Gillian glowers and rips the terrycloth from around his waist and throws it onto the soused tiles. "There," she huffs, wandering eyes sizing him up. "We're... even."

He shrugs. "I've got nothing to hide. Been to jail before, didn't you hear?"

"Well," she heaves. "I hope you didn't _drop the soap _while you were in there."

His mouth hangs ajar for several seconds and he scrapes up his towel and ties it off around his waist. Gillian side-steps and walks around him. Alex, still in completely shock, turns around with his unhinged jaw gaping. "What the hell! We're friends now, aren't we!" he laughs.

"We are friends." She turns around to face him from afar. "And as your friend, I'm desperately _hoping_ that your soap stayed in its soap dish and that you didn't drop it."

"Well, I didn't!" Alex chuckles. "But I appreciate your concern."

"And I'd appreciate it if what just happened here never leaves your mouth. Yes?"

He nods and winks at her, his wet hair matted to the back of his neck drips onto the tiles. A thick cloud of vapor clings to the ceiling above, making the air around stale and asphyxiating, it's also hard to tell his expression from a distance. "Your secret is safe with me."

"It had better be."

"Or what?" he asks, smirking and shrugging.

"I'll ask for the directions to your bedroom and cut off your penis while you're sleeping," Gillian replies, solemn tone and straight face. "Keep laughing, Summers. I'll cut off a nut and a nipple too."

Alex's laughing stops and his grip on the knot in his towel tightens. "I'll keep quiet if you don't tell anyone you saw my..." He stops and motions toward his lower region. "Junk."

"I thought you had nothing to hide!" Gillian laughs, crossing her arms over her chest.

"I don't! I'd just hate to horrify poor Moira with news like that."

Gillian opens her mouth to say something, but closes it, putting a finger to her rough-hewn lips and curling it. "Yeah, now that you mention that..." She scratches at the nape of her neck with the hand holding the dirty clothes. "But Moira looks like a strong woman, I'm sure she has heard, and _seen_, worse things."

"What the hell is _that_ supposed to mean?"

"See you later, Alex!"


	7. CHAPTER SIX

**My loyal readers definitely deserve a longer chapter from me, enjoy!**

* * *

><p>"Did anyone figure out a way to spice up our card game?"<p>

"We can all take off our clothes," Sean replies with a grin.

Alex rests his elbow on the armrest and leans his weight onto a closed fist, shooting a tempting look in Gillian's direction. His wandering eyes peg her every curve and rift and even the beauty mark a finger's breadth above her coral lips, his mind slowly wriggles back to the showers and Gillian in dishabille. She catches his gaze and raises an eyebrow at him, earning a wink from Alex in return, then an eye roll from Gillian.

Darwin clears his throat and eyes both Gillian and Alex. "Something going on with you two?"

Gillian shakes her head, copper curls resiling on her shoulders. She takes the ponytail holder from her wrist and fastens her hair into a careless bun at the top of her head, longer curls dangling down onto her neck. "Alex is just mentally undressing me." She smirks at him. "What a _naughty_ boy."

Sean quickly raises his hand. "Do I get a turn next?"

Eyebrows pulled tightly together, Darwin slaps Sean on the back of the head and curses at him softly under his breath. "Don't be disgusting, Sean."

"Yeah," Gillian starts, leaning over her lap and staring directly at Alex. "Don't be disgusting, Alex."

Alex scoffs and sags into his lap a bit. "Me, disgusting?"

"Yes, you. Peeling off my clothes with your goddamn eyes."

Angel, always sore about something, furls her eyes and crosses her arms over her cleavage, clearly on display for everyone else. Raven's not sure how to take the exchange of anger, impudence, and hot air. Sean is slightly turned on by Gillian's temper and the shirt leaving only one freckled shoulder bare-skinned. Hank is so uncomfortable with the conversation that he looks like he might upchuck breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Darwin just groans and drops his head into his hands.

"Is that really the case? Because I seem to recall an incident in the shower–"

"Don't you _dare_," Gillian seethes through clenched teeth, cuspids grinding against her bottom teeth.

Sean gasps, "You two took a shower together!" He sighs and gently furrows his eyebrows. "So jealous," he whispers.

"Yeah, and I saw her boobs," Alex says casually.

"You fucking liar!" Gillian wails. She jumps up and lunges for Alex, his hair his skin his fucking eyes, whatever she can get her hands on. But Darwin leaps up to grab her before she can come anywhere near his jacket lapel. It takes a few seconds of cussing and defamatory terms for Gillian to collect herself, she convinces Darwin to sit back down. "I don't think Alex would mind it if you took a shower with him, Sean. I hear he's _used to it_," Gillian replies with a needling tone in her voice.

"_Used to it_? You bitch. You fucking _bitch_." Alex's anger is sparked and he's bristling and practically breathing fire. He begins lifting himself out of his chair, ready to lay siege, but Darwin – being between the two – eases him back into the recliner, pats his kneecap and slightly calms him.

"If it makes you so mad then fucking do something you punk ass _bitch_," Gillian spits, the vinegary taste in her mouth like acid.

"Gillian!" Darwin shouts. "Stop being the Instigator."

"I'm not instigating, if he wants to hit me he can come over here and do it!" She holds her arms out, waiting for Alex to strike. "I've been hit before! It's not like it even fucking matters anymore!"

The entire room stills. Someone shifts their position on the ottoman or in a chair but no one looks to find out who it could have been. Gillian breathes out hard and looks to the carpeting, squeezing her sweaty toes together inside of her banded socks. She can feel all of the eyes in the room on her, boring burning holes into her flesh. There's nothing to do except keep her gaze diverted towards the floor because she can't dare to look at everyone's faces.

"You've been hit before?" Raven asks.

Gillian looks up to Raven. "It was when I first moved into my apartment in the City. I met a foreign guy with a weird name, we dated for a long time, he moved in, hit me once and I kicked him out. End of story." She scrapes her toe on the floor. "I didn't mean to let that out." Sean opens his mouth to say something, but Gillian silences him. "Don't say 'sorry'. I hate 'sorry'," she laughs.

Raven perks up after a moment of silence. "I don't know about you all, but I'm about ready to find out what everyone's abilities are!" She claps her hands together once and turns to face everyone. "Everyone else in the CIA has a cool name, I think we should all have secret agent names too." Everyone nods and waits for Raven to come up with a name for herself. "I want to be called Mystique."

"Damn," Sean groans. "I wanted to be called Mystique."

"Too bad, I called it." Raven replies. Then something strange happens. A wave of dark blue flourishes Raven's body and after a couple seconds, a hard copy of Sean is sitting where she was. "I'm way more mysterious than you." She changes back into her regular skin and lounges against the couch. "What about you?" Raven asks Sean.

"I'm going to be Banshee."

Gillian raises an eyebrow. "Why do you want to be named after a wailing spirit?" Hank asks, scratching his head.

He stands up from his recliner and stretches his back out. "You might wanna cover your ears."

Everyone's hands move cautiously to their ears as Sean kneels down in front of the table. He sucks in a deep breath and spits it back out as a metallic shriek, it rebounds off the walls and the ceiling and breaks the huge glass window facing the courtyard. Everyone unplugs their ears and gives Sean an impressed look, Alex even claps him on the back while a smile yanks at his lips.

"What about you, Angel?"

"Well." Angel stands up and removes her jacket, moving behind the couch she was seated at. "My stage name was Angel..." The tattoos on her skin pare off of her arms and shoulders, stretching out and fluttering into little sprite-like wings. She drifts off of the ground ever-so-slightly and flies about.

"You can fly?" Raven asks, astonished.

She nods. "Mhmm, and I can do this." Angel spits a fiery ball out of her mouth and it lands on the bronze likeness outside, liquefying its head. Angel lowers herself back onto the carpet and her pinions smelt back into her skin.

"I'll go next. Darwin is already a nickname, so I guess I'll stick with it."

Hank lifts an eyebrow. "Why? What can you do?"

"I adapt to survive, of course!" he yips. "Watch." Darwin stands up and walks over to the fish tank, balancing himself but putting both hands on the rim of the vat. He slowly lowers himself into the water and turns his head to show everyone brand new gills that had just grown on the sides of his face.

"Awesome!" Gillian cheers. "What about you Hank?" The question draws Hank back a bit and his lips pull into a grim line and he uneasily slips out of his shoes. It's amazing how feet that big can fit into size 10 Florsheim penny loafers. A majority of his toes look like over-sized thumbs with huge nails and the veins in his feet stand out against his slightly pale complexion. "Wow," Gillian breathes. "Let's compare our feet!" Gillian bolts up and walks over to Hank, slipping off one sock and setting her foot beside his. The difference is obviously evident and everyone, including Hank, lets out a chuckle. "That is too cool."

"Bigfoot," Alex says. "We should call you Bigfoot!"

Everyone looks towards Alex and grimaces at him, Gillian even gives him the finger. It's sad to watch how quickly Hank can completely fold in on himself, edges turning under and dog-ear overlaps forming, leaving him laying in creases in his seat. He's like a delicate perennial, petals and anthers easily hurt by the slightest touch.

Raven turns to Alex and folds her hands into her lap, smiling. "Well, you know what they say about guys with big feet," she begins, eyes desisting to his own feet. "And yours look kind of small."

A surge of laughter fills the room and Hank even coughs out a chuckle. "Oh my _God_!" Gillian bellows, laughing back on the couch with Angel.

"So, what can you do, Gillian?" Darwin says, wiping the happy tears out of his eyes.

Gillian scrunches her nose, stands back up, and climbs outside through the blighted glass window. "It's really dangerous to be near me, so just stay where you are." The teenagers are too confused to even move from their spots on the divans. "Most of the time, it happens as an accident and I can't control it then. But there are times when I can make it happen by my own will."

"Make what happen?" Angel asks.

The air around warms up, most of the hair on her forearms blacken and singe right off, and her pulse increases. After a couple seconds of silence, Gillian explodes and clods of her body pith fly into the air and land in various places. Darwin jumps up, followed by everyone else, and runs outside, examining the damage.

"What the hell just happened?" he asks. "Fuck." Darwin scratches his head and bends down to touch a nugget of flesh.

But all of the pieces of meat shake on the grass and the statue, rolling around and basting together to beget Gillian. She struggles to gain her balance, a concerned Sean and Hank rushing over to support her. "Ta-da!" she says, no one can tell if she's being enthusiastic or not.

"You just exploded!" Sean shouts. "Does that hurt?"

"Hurts a lot." Gillian shifts her weight onto Hank, forcing Sean to let go and Hank to lead her back inside to the sofas. "Every time."

Sean taps his finger to his lips. "Fuse! It's fitting because of your temper and your mutation." Gillian is too exhausted to fight back.

"Cool," she mumbles.

"Well, while you collect yourself, let's see what Alex can do."

Alex's eyes go wide and he frantically shakes his head. "No, I can't. It's dangerous, I can't do it in here... around all of you." He looks a Gillian with imploring eyes and she thinks that he might actually cry.

"Come on, Alex!" Raven clamors. "We all showed you our mutations!" She points to Gillian who pants and wheezes on the chaise longue next to the ottoman. "And Gillian is practically dying over there!"

Gillian waves back. "I'm–fine–don't–worry," she replies between gasps.

"Alex! Alex! Alex! Alex!"

"It's your own faults if I end up hurting you," Alex grumbles, walking back outside into the courtyard. He cracks his neck and his knuckles, shaking out his sore arms and positioning himself in front of the anodized statue in the middle of the lawn. Everyone rushes towards the windows, Hank supporting Gillian all the way there until she convinces him that she can walk by herself. "Get back," Alex growls. Heads go away, but soon reappear with anxious eyes. "I told you to get back!" No one listens this time around and he curses silently. "Whatever, just remember that I told you so."

Alex gently wheels his hips, hinging them more fiercely after a few seconds. Red circles gleam around his midriff, soon enough he pivots his body forward, launching the glowing rings into the path of the statue. A screeching sound resounds through the air, then the top half of the statue slides off of the bottom and falls onto the ground.

Everyone breaks into applause, Angel jumping up and down in her boots. "Well done, Havok."

Two hours of celebrating and eating doesn't even tire them out. A thin, treble voice rocks the entire room. Everyone looks to Moira MacTaggert with Erik and Charles standing behind her, clearly not impressed with the messy room. "What have you done?" she asks. "The room is trashed, the garden is destroyed, the statue is... I don't even _know_ what happened there. Explain yourselves, immediately."

"It was Alex," Hank says.

"Thanks," Alex angrily whispers.

"No! It's Havok, it's Havok! You have to use his code name!" Raven replies with her booming voice. "And we made some up for you two also!" She scurries over to Charles and points at his chest. "You are Professor X." Quickly she turns to Erik. "And you are Magneto."

"Remarkable," Erik responds softly before leaving behind Moira.

Charles shakes his head at a frowning Raven. "I expected more from you, Raven. Much, much more from you." He walks away to catch up with Erik and Moira, leaving Raven standing where he left her, in self-pity and rubble from the mass of ruined cobblestone sidewalks.

* * *

><p>"Damn," Sean mumbles underneath his breath.<p>

Two agents walk by the newly replaced pier glass window and peek inside. The taller one whistles and claps the other one on his broad shoulders, shaking him slightly. "Well, well, well. I didn't know the circus was in town, man." Both of them laugh and high-five each other. "Come on, Scientist! Show us your feet! Give us a little bit of–" the shorter one lops his arms, looking directly at Angel. Hank stands up and pulls the drapery closed.

"Don't worry about them, just a bunch of stupid guys," Darwin reassures.

"Stupid is easy to handle, ignorant is not," Angel murmurs. "I'd rather have them stare at me with my clothes off than the way they stare at me now."

The absence of sound is unnerving. Gillian shifts in her seat. "You should've given them a little bit of your fist," she says. "Be proud of who you are," Gillian says quietly. "Because we can't change ourselves."

Gillian purls strands of her hair around her finger, laying across the upholstered couch with her legs hanging off the edge. Everyone writhes in their seat, waiting for someone else to say anything. Something that sounds like thunder resonates through the building, but the noise gets closer and turns into loud thumping.

"Does anyone hear that?" Hank asks. "It sounds a lot like slamming."

"Yeah," Darwin replies. "I can hear it too."

"What the hell _is _it?" Gillian asks, walking over to the curtains and pulling them aside. There's nothing but darkness outside and a few lights illuminating the sod in the courtyard. "I can't see anything besides that weird shape in the sky."

Hank comes closer and stands next to Gillian, taking the curtain from her grip and drawing it back more. The shape turns out to be a dark silhouette. "Is that, is that a person?" He pushes his glassed up closer to his face and lets his hand fall from the drapery. Everyone crowds around the window, eyes wide and faces contorted in horror as the profile of a personage falls from the stars onto the ground. They all jump back from the glass and let out a few strangles screams. "I think that's Agent Black!"

More and more agents begin to fall from the sky, turning to grume as soon as they hit the grass. "What the hell is going on?" Gillian asks, reaching back to grab hold of someone. She knows the jacket she's clinging to belongs to Alex because the leather is hardly tattered.

He puts his hand on top of hers and squeezes lightly. Other agents outside are prepared with guns and one shouts "Stay back!" while reloading a cartridge. Everyone now realizes that they were not under siege by anyone else besides a small group of mutants. A man with red skin, jet black hair, a pointed tail, and a cluster of rough-looking facial hair appears behind the agent. The teens scream for the agent to turn around, but when he does, the mutant evaporates into red dust and reappears behind him, stabbing him through the chest with his tail.

Tornados whisk by trees and fountains, pulling agents in and violently throwing them back out. A body flies through another window and Alex jumps over Gillian to shield her from shards of broken glass. His hands are gripping her wrists while his huddled mass of body weight pushes her down to the floor, he helps her up when the glass stops whooshing.

"Thanks."

Darwin's attempt to get everyone out of the room quickly fails.

"The mutants are in that room, just please don't kill me." Silence, a scream, more silence.

A Spanish man and the red man step in through the broken window and brush off their suits. Another man enters through the door wearing a strange red helmet that he soon takes off after discovering that Charles is not present.

He clears his throat. "Well, then." The man straightens his spine and pulls out his best smile. "My name is Sebastian Shaw," he begins, walking toward the group of young mutants with his voice nonchalant and his smile still friendly. "I am not here to harm you in any way." Sebastian walks around, examining each and every one of them. "My friends, a revolution is coming and all of mankind will discover who we are and _what we can do_," he says with hope. "Each of us will be forced to make a choice, be enslaved by humanity or rise above and rule." Shaw pauses after he finishes sizing them all up. "Choose freely. But know that if you are not with us, then by definition, you are against us. So, stay and fight for unmindful people who hate and fear you, or join me. Live like the kings you are." Angel looks at him with her big, pitiful eyes glowing. "And queens."

Shaw holds out his hand and after a questionable moment, Angel takes it and walks away with him.

Raven calls out her name and Gillian puts a hand on her shoulder to silence her.

"Come on, guys," Angel says, turning back to face the youth behind her. "We don't belong here, we never did. That's nothing to be ashamed of."

"No, but you should be ashamed of turning your back on your fr–oomf!" Gillian groans after Sean elbows her in the stomach.

Shaw raises an eyebrow. "No need to silence the girl. If she has something to say, let her speak her mind."

Gillian grips her stomach, almost doubled over in pain. "Trust me," she spits. "If I speak my mind, you won't like it." She punches Sean in the groin and he grunts, steadying himself on the recliner next to him.

Alex and Darwin start shoving each other after a few whispers are exchanged. Darwin motions for Shaw to stop and calls out to him, Angel pats him on the arm and smiles softly. "Good choice," Shaw says. "Tell me about your mutation."

"I adapt to survive, so I guess I'm coming with you," Darwin replies.

"What the fuck is going on?" Gillian quietly whines, still clutching her stomach.

Alex grabs onto her forearm and pinches her skin, not meaning to hurt her, just to get her attention. He leans down to her ear, his hot breath tickling her auricle and if the moment wasn't so serious, she would be laughing. "Just listen to me, okay?" Gillian nods, dealing with too much affliction to refuse.

Darwin takes Angel's hand in his own and after several second of rearrangement he pulls her into him and changes his skin. "Alex, do it!"

"Get down!" Alex screams.

Hank throws Gillian onto the carpet behind the davenport and shelters her with his own body, struggling to keep her flailing figure beneath him. All that can be heard is galactic fighting sounds and crumbling rock against cobblestone. A gust of wind fills the room and everyone figures that it is now safe to get up from their hiding spots. Hank rolls off of Gillian who immediately bolts up to delve into the damage, but all that is left standing is Alex.

Darwin is nowhere to be seen. Alex blinks rapidly and breathes in deep, struggling with his words. "D–Darwin, he's, _gone_."


	8. CHAPTER SEVEN

**Well, lucky you. Three chapters in about five days.**

* * *

><p>The soot in the air begins to clear and the wind temporarily stills. It's quiet except for the tauten whimpers from Raven and an occasional "motherfucker" from Sean who struggles with pulling shards of soda-lime float glass from his doughy skin. Hank puts a hand on the drum table to lift himself from the floor, using Gillian's arm to further abet him. She gently pats him on the back and expresses her gratitude to which he nods his head in consent.<p>

"Are you okay?" he asks.

Sighing, she looks over to a stagnant, stock-still Alex. "Yes, but I'm not sure it's me you should be worried about." Gillian looks around to observe the damage: overturned butterfly chairs, crumbling colonnades, different colored glass everywhere, and teens in completely and utter hysteria. "Can you check on Raven and Sean? I'm gonna talk to Alex."

"Sure," Hank replies, walking to the other side of the room.

Gillian breathes in deep and takes cautious footsteps on her way over to Alex, trying not to startle him. She can't quite figure out how to approach him, he could be choleric or crying or going into shock and no one would even know. His hands are balled into a tight fist at his waist with veins protruding and all, but his eyes are empty, if not endless at the moment.

She clears her throat, gingerly reaching for his shoulder. "Alex?" Her hand lands on his shoulder and he flinches, but doesn't move from his spot, actually, he doesn't move at all. "Alex?" With due consideration, she kneads the socket of his shoulder. "...talk to me?"

He nods slightly. "Okay," he says, the tone in his voice unreadable. "Okay, what do you wanna talk about?" Alex's voice rises a bit and his resonance is sarcastic now. "How I ruined _everything_? About how I _killed_ Darwin?" He slaps her delicate fingers away from him, turning around to face her full-on. "What, Gillian! What do you wanna talk about!"

"Please, don't make me raise my voice to you," she says. There isn't a hint of animosity in her words. "All I want to do is help. You can take it, or you can leave it." Gillian puts her upturned hand out to him, arm bent at the elbow. "What do you want, Alex?"

The mental debate is difficult, but he's not completely shallow and has a heavy heart. He ignores her hand, but instead takes her elbow and she leads him outside, across the dirty crag, broken glass, and fallen agents. They both sit down on a bench near an egress window and he takes his hand off of her. For a few minutes, the air lacks utterance because neither of them knows how to start the conversation. Maybe with an obvious question like "Are you okay?" or "Are you hurt?", but nothing comes out of anyone's mouth.

Gillian looks back inside to Hank and Raven both huddled around an execrating Sean. "Is Sean gonna be okay?" Alex asks. She's surprised by his question because she expected something more 'self-shepherded' towards himself.

"He has some glass stuck in him, but he'll be fine," she answers.

Alex never looks up to meet her eyes. "What about you?" He clasps his hands together on his lap. "Your hands are bleeding."

She furrows her eyebrows and looks down to her upturned prehensile, watching the blood emanate from several small slits in her palms and rivulet through her fingers. Gillian wonders how she didn't even realize how badly cut up her hands are, but somehow they're far too numb to feel any pain. "It would _seem_ so," she says, laughing softly. "It might've been from when Hank threw me down onto the carpet, I think I landed in glass or something."

"But are you okay?" he asks. "Does it hurt?"

"Right now? No. But, when I get all of the feeling back in my body, it's gonna hurt a lot."

Alex puts his head into his hands and for a moment, Gillian thinks he might start thrashing his limbs about. "It's my fault, it's always my fault." He chokes up on his words. "I hurt _everyone_. You're hurt, Sean's hurt, Darwin is _dead_."

She wipes her bloody hands on her sweat pants and places one of them at the hub of his spine and gently rubs his back as he dry heaves. Soon the dry heaves turn into actual bouts of nausea and short stints of vomit. Gillian is forced to move her feet, which she now notices are also marred because of the absence of shoes. He tries to talk inbetween his retching, but his worlds just come out jumbled and suppressed.

"Since you're busy vomiting right now, let me talk." She softens her touch on his back, instead just drawing her fingers across the ridges in his spine. "Whatever you're doing to yourself right now, this... _blame game_, isn't right. You tried to save us all, even though we all don't get along most of the time, _that's_ a hero, not an assailant."

He spits the tart taste out of his mouth and wipes his lips with the back of his hand. "But Darwin is _dead_, dead. I should've known that would happen, bad things _always_ happen when I use my power."

"All the more reason to stay and learn how to control it."

"But what if I can't?" he asks.

It's an unexpected question. "You will."

Alex finally turns his head to look up at her, his eyes are glossy but he hasn't been crying. "You don't understand, you don't _get it_, and you won't ever get it until you've hurt someone. All you can do is fucking _explode_, you'll never understand, Gillian."

Gillian stifles a small laugh. "I'm actually still trying to figure out how I can hurt people with my mutation, because _all I can do is fucking explode_, right? Do you even know how _hot_ my skin and the air around me gets when I _fucking explode_? Why do you think I made everyone stay inside when I put myself on display like that? If anyone were to be near me your goddamn eyes would probably melt out of their sockets."

He doesn't know what to say for a while, it's almost impossible to leave him speechless, mouth agape, for more than a few seconds. Yet, she had done it several times in the day that she had known him.

"You're not the only one who's upset right now, Alex." She gets up from her spot on the bench and wipes her bleeding hands on her pants again. "When you're ready to talk and not point the finger at yourself, I'll be here. We're still friends and you can still talk to me."

* * *

><p>Several hours later the sky turns eraser pink and the sun's radiance licks the horizon. Extant agents – with EMTs always in tow – scud the destroyed grounds, caring for the wounded and whisking away the departed on gurneys. The foyer is completely consumed, demolished to the point that there can be no rebuilding, almost like bleach on an entire plantation.<p>

The teenagers rest on the marmoreal bench at the entrance of the facility in brand new clothes, some have dozed off, but others are unable to fall asleep. Gillian fights to keep her eyes from closing, going to bathroom for cold water every few minutes.

"Cop some z's, Gill. You could use them," Sean says. His hair is a mess and he has band-aids pasted all over his body, she can't tell if he's looking at her because of the dark tint on his teashade glasses. "Here." He pats a small spot on his leg for her.

She grunts, "Sean–"

"For once," he pauses to put a hand on his heart. "I'm not being filthy, I swear. Just lay down."

Gillian nods and cracks her neck, putting her head down on his leg afterward. Even with the comfort of his warmth, she still finds that it is impossible to fall asleep. She lifts her legs into Alex's lap and rolls onto her back, spine aching against the marble bench and the parietal part of her skull scratched by the copper rivet on Sean's pants. She examines her hands, swollen and adorned with several rolls of gauze.

"Do they hurt yet?" Alex asks. His voice is hoarse and his head is down.

Gillian cranes her neck to look at him. "Yeah, they're throbbing." She chokes out a petty laugh. "But, if I don't think about it,, it doesn't hurt as much."

Alex nods back to her and looks down into his hands. "That's good."

The sound of tires squeaking resonates through the gale and everyone bolts upright. A small, glistening car stops short in front of the building – although it's not much of a building anymore. Charles, Erik, and Moira all scramble out and race for the aghast mutants on the benches, content yet afraid of their demeanor.

Raven quickly rises from her seat and runs to Charles, he pulls her in tight for a hug and they exchange a few words. "I'm so glad that you're alright," he says. His voice is strong and soothing over the wind.

Erik's Blüchers can be heard clacking across the pavement and for once, his face isn't so stern. Sean helps Gillian to sit straight-up as Erik kneels down to inspect her hands, he gently turns them over in his palms and looks to Sean. "_Denn Christus willen_," he mutters beneath his breath. "Are you two okay? I know your strength must be abated."

Both respond with a quick and quiet 'yes' in unison.

"We're all just a little shaken," Gillian replies. "Not to mention that lack of sleep is taking its toll of everyone."

Erik shakes his head and looks away for a second, cursing to himself. "We never should have left you all unattended to."

"You saw an opportunity for a tip-off in Russia and you took it. What's wrong with that?" she asks, blinking her misty eyes clear of the light. "What could you have done any differently, Erik?"

"I could've stopped him. Our fight could've been concluded right here at the base, in that very terrace." He looks up to meet her eyes before he realizes that he still has her hand in his. Erik releases her appendage and stands up, straightening his split leather jacket and tucking his hands into his pockets. "I could've won this time."

"Do you honestly think the outcome would've changed a thing?"

Erik opens his mouth to reply, but snaps his chops shut and snarls a little at the thought. Charles puts a reassuring hand on Raven's shoulder and pats lightly, having finished their short conversation. He walks over to Sean, Gillian, Hank, and Alex, all seated in silence on the bench. He raises an eyebrow, realizing that their group is incomplete.

"We have," he starts, looking over the troupe of mutants once more. "We have arranged for all of you to go home, we're finished here."

"We can't go home!" Sean purls. "We _won't_ go home." For a moment, everyone thinks that he might get up from his seat and wise off Charles. "He's not going back to prison," he says with a thumb cast in Alex's direction.

Charles sighs, "This is not up for debate, I'm sorry."

"Shaw killed Darwin," Alex blurts. "You should've seen him, it was almost like he was calling out for us to help him before he turned to fucking grit."

Gillian cringes at Alex's words and suddenly is hit by a crest of revulsion, her stomach lurches and she tries to prevent the sickness coming on but ends up choking out vomit in small spells. Raven immediately rushes over, pushing Sean out of the way to rub her back.

"You're okay, girl. You're okay," Raven coos, holding strands of Gillian's hair back as she jerks forward ofttimes, spitting up anything and everything inside of her.

"His death is a shame, but it's all the more reason for you all to leave," Charles replies. "Whatever we have here, whatever we have _evoked_, it's over."

Raven glowers and stands up, allowing Sean to soothe Gillian's back through her sickness. "Darwin is dead, Charles. _Dead_." She puts her arms out to her sides, almost shrugging but not quite. "We can't even bury him."

"Then we can avenge him," Erik says, almost as quickly as Raven's response leaves her mouth.

Charles eyebrows knit together and his posture tautens, he clears his throat. "A word, please, Erik."

Both men walk off a few feet and begin what looks like an argument. Moira looks at the battered youth on the bench and shifts her weight uncomfortably from foot to foot, her kitten heels cackling on the pavement below. Gillian has finally finished her ruminating fit and spits the acidic taste out of her mouth just as Erik and Charles finish their conversation.

"If you're all serious about this, we need to begin training right away," Charles says.

Erik had won.

"Where?" asks Hank. "Even if they did reconstruct this place, we still wouldn't be safe. Shaw would find us again in no time."

A weighty yet heartfelt smile jerks at Charles' lips. "I think I have just the place for us to go."


	9. CHAPTER EIGHT

**Mainly just a filler and some train ride drama.**

* * *

><p>Moira offers to fly the lot of mutants out to Westchester, New York on a business jet allotted by the CIA. She shows them the internals of the airplane, gives a short tour of the cabins, and acquaints them with the genial cadre of the Dassault Group. It's a bit small, but there won't be many passengers and it's a beautiful jet nonetheless: lustrous exterior, traditional window covers, and the works, really. Excited, everyone is ready to haul their parcels onto the plane until Gillian expresses her outright fear of flying through a paltering head shake.<p>

"Come on, Gill! Flying is awesome!" Sean squawks. He flaps his arms up and down and looks like a fool while doing it.

She clutches close the caiman skin handbag that Raven gave to her since her courier is shoddy, adjusting the strap over her shoulder. "Well, when you put it that way... _hell no_," she says, enouncing her words. There is a collective whine throughout the faction except Hank, who groans and inattentively kicks up silt with his loafers. "Crying is not going to get me to go anywhere. I don't like planes."

"Gillian," Charles grouses. "You're all exhausted, your eyes are bloodshot, and you haven't been able to stop yawning. We can go posthaste to New York this way."

Gillian shakes her head furiously and crosses her arms over her chest. "I'm not even that tired." Another amassed groan slightly vibrates the air. "We can take a car or an express train, anything but that jet. It's not that far from Westchester if we leave now."

"I must say that although she is very asinine at times, Gillian makes a good point," Erik spouts. "I wouldn't mind a train ride." He straightens his jacket and combs back the tuft of hampered hair at the crown of his head. "In fact, I'd prefer it over the jet."

Surprised, Gillian nods in haste before he changes his mind. But her delight allays when she looks further into his words and cocks a curious and somewhat affronted eyebrow. "Wait, are you calling me dumb?"

"Erik..."

"Did anyone just hear him call me dumb?" she asks, holding out her arms.

"Why don't you all use the plane? Gillian and I can commute using the train. I believe there is still one of those atmospheric railways around here somewhere," Erik replies. "We'd only be a few hours behind."

"Hello! He just called me stupid!" Gillian shouts, throwing her arms in the air.

"No," Charles says, sighing deeply. "If we travel, we will travel together." A collated – and very loud – groan flicks the air. There are a few muttered obscenities and a few blatant ones. "We can't risk an ill-matched separation, Shaw could attack again at an given time."

"Why do I even talk?" Gillian grumbles to herself, crossing her arms over her chest.

Moira nods and makes a call back to the relocated base, scratching uneasily at the nape of her neck and attempts to reconcile with someone over the phone. "I know, I know," she grumbles. "But, Erik and one of the recruits had insisted... I know, I know. Stop yelling." She puts a finger up to the troupe and walks away from them for a minute, trying to avoid auditors. "All you told me was that I had to get them there and I will–"

A moment passes, Alex and Sean willingly climb aboard to retrieve bags and paraphernalia, steadily stepping back down the stairs and placing them in front of their owners. After they finish, Moira ends her heated phone call and rejoins the lot beside the jet. She doesn't look very happy, but maintains a solid, stern smile anyway.

It takes ten minutes to arrive at the train station, all luggage in tow and frowns on tight faces. "Why couldn't you have taken a sedative before we got on the plane? You wouldn't have minded the flight," Sean says.

"I'm going to ignore that," Gillian replies.

The train delays in an anomalous town forty minutes south of the station and everyone is forced to wait two hours before it arrives at its gate. Gillian only has the reptile skin bag to carry on, but helps Moira with her rolling luggage and carpet bag. Once everyone is aboard and the train starts rolling again, they all struggle to get to their seats. Gillian squeezes past patrons and sags into a window seat, handbag on her lap and Raven beside her in the aisle seat.

"After all that has happened, I'm going to take my leave now," Raven says with a laugh, pulling up the foot rest and reclining her seat back. "You should really try to get some sleep too." Her voice is genuine and her eyes sparkle like sterling silver.

"I know," Gillian sighs in response. "Sleep tight, Mystique."

Raven smiles and closes her overworked eyes. "Hopefully you will too, Fuse." And she's out almost as soon as the train rolls past Passaic, New Jersey.

Gillian tries to fall asleep, but deviating thoughts hector her mind. She gnaws at her bottom lip and opens up the carryall, fishing out ten dollars worth of bills and snapping it shut as quietly as possible. She stands up and places the bag on her seat beside the aperture, carefully climbing over Raven's long legs and eventually making it into the aisle. Gillian tugs her polar fleece pullover (courtesy of the CIA) closer to her skin and starts on down the aisle.

"Charles, Erik?" she asks, peeking into their seats.

"Hmm?" a barely awake Charles hums.

She rakes her notched fingernails through her wispy, frivolous fringe. "I'm going to the dining cart. Are you hungry? Do you want anything?"

"An Americano, please," says Erik.

"But, that's basically 90% water and 10% espresso. Why would you want that?"

Erik grunts and looks at her from the window seat, folding his hands into his lap. "I don't ask you why your hair is red, do I?"

Gillian narrows her eyes and fingers a lock of her hair. "My hair isn't red, it's a light auburn with a slight hint of copper."

"It's red." Erik gouges his pockets and pulls out a five dollar bill, holding it out to her. "Here."

She shakes her head and holds out an objecting hand. "I wouldn't have asked if I wasn't going to pay." Gillian looks to Charles and puts a hand on his shoulder. "Do you want anything Charles?"

"No, thank you, dear."

She nods and continues on down the aisle, pressing a button each time to open the door to an ensuing car. At last, she reaches the dining cart at the front of the train and gets in line behind a pretty Haitian lady with a child held close to her bosom. The line itself isn't long, but there is only one person preparing food and playing his part as cashier.

Gillian holds onto the paling as the train concusses and trembles beneath her. The baby in front starts crying, bitter screams peeling through the air.

"Well, isn't that annoying?"

Gillian shushes Alex, turning around to face him. "The poor lady is four feet away from you, keep your voice down."

"But you agree, right?" he asks.

She forces her reply through a barely opened mouth, trying to be as quiet as possible. "Of course I do, but it's rude to be so loud." Everyone in the line moves forward a couple steps, the woman in front of Gillian is now at the counter and her baby has stopped crying.

"What are you doing up here, anyway?"

"My," she mutters. "You're very talkative now."

"Okay, Gillian. I'm sorry that I didn't want to talk about Darwin's remains."

She shivers at the thought of his slag covering the cobblestone. "All I'm saying is that last night you were a total jerk to me."

"Because I didn't want to fucking talk?" he half-shouts but somehow manages to whisper.

The Haitian woman turns around, face taut like crag. "Please, watch what you say around my kid." Her accent is gentle but the weight on her words is dangerous.

"She's not a kid, she's a fucking _baby_," Alex replies. "She probably hasn't even said her first word yet."

"Excuse me?" the woman asks.

"Did I fucking stutter?"

Gillian places a hand on Alex's chest and another hand on his back, filching a wad of his skin between her weathered fingernails. He yelps and tries to tear her hands from his oxhide jacket, but she clings on and glares at him with bayonets in her eyes. Alex puts his hands up defensively and Gillian's mien softens, she quickly lets go and pats him on the arm.

"I'm sorry about him, ma'am," Gillian says, looking back to Alex. "We're sorry, right?" Alex, his face now tight with anger but guileless, crosses his arms. "We're _fucking_ sorry, right, Alex?" she presses through gritted teeth.

"I'm not saying sorry."

The woman takes her candy bar and pint of skimmed milk from the man behind the counter, pays, and turns to face Gillian and Alex. Her baby is in a carrier slung around her shoulder, now screaming and crying again. "You should be ashamed to have such a foul mouth."

"Oh, who the fuck are _you_, lady?" Alex bays as the woman begins walking away.

"Shut up," Gillian grumbles, punching Alex in the chest. He groans and massages his ribs with the palm of his hand, slightly slumped over in pain. While he's down, she orders the Americano and a bag of oddly named hibachi flavored chips. Gillian pays and walks off, Alex loitering close behind. "Didn't you come to the dining cart to get something?"

"Yeah," he huffs. "I wanted a veal gyro until you nailed me in the gut."

She keeps pushing buttons to the resultant cars until they both finally arrive back at their car. Gillian hands Erik his Americano and makes it back to her seat, clambering over Raven's legs and flopping down in her window seat. She pulls open the bag of potato chips and pops a slice into her mouth, ultimately waking up Raven with her loud munching.

Her eyes flutter open and she sniffs the air. "Do I smell... _hibachi_?" she asks, smiling.

"That you do," Gillian replies, offering her some from the bag.

She takes a handful and chomps down on them. "Made a trip to the dining cart?"

"Yeah," Gillian answers through a mouth brimming with chips. "Couldn't sleep and I was hungry." She licks the seasoning from her fingers and pours another smattering of chips into her hand. "Alex went too."

"Did he?" Raven asks, cleaning off her fingers and digging into more chips.

Gillian nods, swallowing a wedge of potato chips stuck in her throat. "Made an ass of himself and me. I tried to stop him, but he wouldn't shut up."

"That must've been embarrassing," Raven murmurs, renouncing the next offer of chips from Gillian.

She rolls the bag up and sticks it inside her handbag. "Trust me, it was."

The train pulls into the station at Croton-Harmon several hours later, standing in the sun is equivalent to being imbued in lukewarm water. Gillian, having finally slept on the train ride, stretches her arms high above her head. She takes Moira's carpet bag from her, offering to carry it and leads the way from the gate to the exit corridor.

At the sidewalk, Charles flags down a cab and helps Erik and Sean to lift the luggage into the trunk.

"How is this going to work, Charles?" Gillian asks.

"How is what going to work?"

"There are eight of us, _tons_ of luggage, and six seats," she answers.

They all end up squeezing in anyway. Erik in the passenger's seat, Charles and Moira in the two seats abaft, and the stragglers left for the back seat. After an unsuccessful game of rock-paper-scissors, Gillian is stuck sitting on Sean's lap and Raven on Hank's lap.

"I see that I finally got you to give into me," Sean says, a smile on his freckled face.

Gillian feigns a smile and fakes a laugh. "Try anything and I will make you infertile."

Charles, Alex, and Hank wince at the thought.


	10. CHAPTER NINE

**Another chapter about nothingness.**

* * *

><p>It's another half an hour before they even come close to Westchester and Charles refuses to tell anyone where they're relocating to. Since everyone is taut and overwrought with impatience, the slightest quip always stirs a bone of contention. After nearly an hour of endless gridlock and several stops at gas stations, the cab stops at a gateway. The latency of a gate deters the taxicab, the driver slows the van and waits for the doors to open. Once they do, he pulls up next to the cobblestone sidewalk and stops, tapping the meter and holding his hand out to Erik.<p>

He fishes the five dollar bill out of his pocket and the driver looks at him curiously, pointing to the meter. "$40, not $5. Pay your fare, please."

Erik sighs and turns around to face everyone abaft. "I find that I am _slightly_," he begins, looking at the red-faced cabbie. "decumbent on cash. $35 short to be exact..." Synchronously, everyone digs into their pockets and handbags and billfolds. Gillian hands Erik seven dollars from her spent ten dollar bill, Moira baits twenty dollars from her purse, and Charles tosses him a folded ten. Erik quickly counts it all and places the money in the driver's upturned palm. "Do you have change?"

"No," he curtly replies, stuffing the money into a niche in the dashboard.

Charles places a hand on Erik's shoulder, inwardly calming his bitterness. "It's not a big deal, Erik."

Erik opens his door and manages to get a leg out before turning back to the cabbie. "Many good wishes to you and your tapering hairline," he says, tone heedful. The man begins to scream salacities as Erik steps out and slams the door behind himself, straightening his jacket and brushing back his hair.

After all of the trappings are retrieved and the trunk is closed tight, the driver immediately speeds off and out of the gate, barely waiting for the mobile doors to open. Everyone breaks into a short fit of laughter over Erik's comment. Gillian and Raven jokingly wave the man adieu and laugh on each other's shoulders.

Once the amusement of the matter ceases, everyone turns around to face Charles' large estate. The manor is beautiful, moss flourishing on the corner bricks, large windows everywhere, and green grass as far as the eye could see.

"This is yours? This can't be yours," Sean says. "How is this yours?"

Alex bluntly slaps him on his head. "Stop talking."

It was like a painting, the vista went on for miles and miles on end. Knolls in the land rise and fall forever, the sun setting directly behind them. No one could talk, for fear of ruining this astounding moment with meaningless chatter.

"No, Sean," Charles says after a moment, smiling. "It's ours. All of ours."

Erik grunts and it might be to contemn Charles. "Honestly, Charles, I don't know how you withstood such hardship." It's probably his jealous talking.

Raven simpers, stepping towards Charles and throwing an arm around his shoulders. "It was a hardship, softened by me." Charles beams wider and places a gentle kiss on the side of Raven's brow. "I think it's time for a tour now, don't you, Charles?"

He nods and motions for the door. Sean and Alex roughshod over each other in their sprint for the door, pushing and tripping each other. "Slow down, gentlemen!" Charles shouts to no avail.

"Such children," Raven mumbles. "Right, Gillian?" She turns to look at Gillian, no longer in the spot she had left her. Raven looks in the direction of the manor and watches Gillian, clutching onto the reptile skin handbag, jumping over depressions and wet plats of grass, catching up to the boys and hip checking both of them, making them fall into the damp plots of turf.

She does a dance that looks like the samba and shimmies as she reaches the front door. "I told you that I always get what I want!" Gillian shouts over the sprinkler system. The fine mist sprays Alex and Sean, dabbling their clothes and hair.

Sean flicks the wet curls out of his face. "Not cool, Gill! Not fucking cool!"

Everyone else begins their walk from the curb, dragging luggage across the sod. Moira steps over Sean, while Raven steps on him just as he tries pushing himself up, purposely taking her time. He rolls over onto his stomach, groaning now that his breath has completely evaded him. Alex stands up and walks over to him, drilling him in the side with his sneaker, afterwards holding out a hand to help him up. Sean, gasping for eluded air, takes his hand and pulls himself up. He pats Alex on the shoulder, and walks with him, eventually jabbing him in the stomach and kicking his knee joint, bringing him down onto the ground.

Sean's hair dangles in front of his eyes. "Now you know how it fucking feels!" he shouts, laughing as he catches up to everyone else.

Alex clutches his stomach and rolls around in the grass.

* * *

><p>Gillian showers and settles into a room between Raven and Hank at the end of one corridor. It had a queen-sized bed, cloud comfy pillows, a mahogany stained dresser, and a closet. The view from the aperture is beautiful, she can see the aureate fields, a huge satellite, and the barbed rose bushes 20 or so feet below her window.<p>

She walks to the closet and opens the sliding doors, stepping inside and kneeling down to a collection of boxes. She slides her hands under the flaps and pops one of them open, pulling out an armed force uniform and hat. There is a weird grin on her face as she observes them both, running her fingers over the leaf of gold metal on the chest of the regimental.

Gillian folds the uniform back and places it in the cardboard box, still holding the cap in her hand. "Charles!" she calls, running out of her room to the den. The fireplace burns bright, cinders crackling in the flames. Charles is talking with Moira on the couch, it is evident that they are in deep conversation, but Gillian interrupts anyway. "Charles!" She rushes over to him, flopping down next to him on the davenport. "I found this in the closet. The name tag on the uniform said _Clarence_, I couldn't figure out the last name because it was so worn down."

Moira looks slightly annoyed with Gillian's presence. "Charles, maybe we can finish this conversation later?"

He nods. "Certainly, Moira." She walks off and Charles turns to Gillian. "That was unmannerly, you know? Chiming in on our conversation."

"You like her?" she asks.

Charles is taken aback. "Excuse me?"

"Nothing," Gillian says, shoving the hat into his hands. "So, who's Clarence?"

Charles smiles a little and the moment suddenly gains buoyancy. "Clarence was a fine fellow, but always had a ballsy smile."

Gillian cocks an eyebrow. "Ballsy?"

"Yeah, bold, brash. Isn't that what everyone is saying nowadays?" he asks, slightly shimmying his shoulders as he bales out his reply.

"Oh, _God_, Charles. Just keep talking about Clarence," she says, folding her legs underneath herself.

He laughs a lighthearted laugh. "_Anyway_, Clarence was my father's friend from the Air Force. He had two daughters, the eldest – I think her name was Judith – somehow procuring herpes zoster in the nastiest way. I only met her twice, but our introduction didn't last very long because I couldn't stand the sight of her. She had ribbons of revolting blisters all over and it was appalling, Gillian, absolutely appalling."

"What was _appalling_?" Sean asks, stressing Charles' accent and popping a white grape into his mouth. He has just arrived from the kitchen with his hands full of raisins, currants, and grapes.

"Charles knew a girl with a ghastly case of herpes zoster," she answers. "But, I hear she _loves_ gingers."

"I'm not a ginger!" he shouts, chucking a raisin at her head. "You're more of a ginger than I ever will be!"

Gillian throws it back and shushes him. "Shut up and let Charles continue."

Sean puts his hands up defensively and lolls back on the sofa. "Continue, I can't wait to hear this."

"As I was saying," Charles continues. "She had this terrible case of herpes zoster, and I think she took a liking to me. During our second meeting, her ailment flared–" A collated (and muttered) 'yuck' from Gillian and Sean makes Charles laugh. "Keep in mind that I was only about 7 or 8 at the time, and she was maybe 14. Anyway, she followed me around the manor, uniformly calling my name whenever she thought she was coming close to finding me."

"Where were you hiding?" Gillian asks.

"Why, in the repository, of course!"

"Wow," Sean says with a disbelieving head shake. "Then Judith is a dumb bitch."

Charles gasps, but begins laughing shortly afterwards. "How so, Sean?"

"Because the storage closet is the first place you check!"

"No," Gillian says, taking a currant from his hand. "Under the _sink_ is the first place you check, _then_ in the storage closet." She puts the currant in her mouth and chews while trying to talk. "Enough about icky Judith and more about Clarence!" she demands, rapping the inside of her thighs with her fingers.

For an hour, Gillian and Sean listen to Charles talk about Clarence and his family and his encounter with foreign children, somehow leading to the spread of respiratory diphtheria in his home. As it turns out, his wife packed up and left with her children, leaving Clarence sick and in need of shelter after a failed mission and an operation. Charles' father took him in (against his mother's wishes) and gradually nursed him back to health.

"Wow," Alex breathes. "Your parents must've been really nice people." After a while, everyone had found their way to the den and began listening in on the story, but only managing to catch segments of the tale. So they sit, Charles and Gillian on the davenport, Raven and Erik on recliners adjacent, and Alex, Sean, and Hank on the sofa facing them.

Charles nods. "They were."

"So, this is nice and all, but how does the story end?" Gillian asks. "Sean and I have been here for over an hour and I've been pretty patient waiting for this ending."

"Well," Charles begins. "Clarence wasn't immortal. I think schizophrenia and some unknown cardiovascular disease caught up to him."

"So, he died?"

"Sure did, collapsed right on our kitchen floor. Heart attack, I believe."

It's silent for a while until Gillian jokingly slaps her knee. "Well, so much for that. I was hoping for a happy ending."

"Gillian," Charles says, taking the hat from her lap and slightly adjusting as he fits it over her heaping head of henna ringlets. "Not every story comes with an attested happy ending." Charles stands up and straightens his Charvet dress shirt, sticking his hands into his pockets. "All of you are welcome to anything the fridge, feel free to clean out the closets. All I ask is that you handle everything with diligence."

"Like it's my own baby," Gillian sing-songs, mock cradling a baby to her breasts.

Charles smiles. "Goodnight everyone! Get a good rest, for training will start bright and early tomorrow morning."

"Goodnight!" chimes a choir of voices. Erik bids the lot fairwell and heads up the stairs to his bedroom, Hank following shortly afterward.

"Well, it's getting late," Gillian says, standing up from her spot on the couch. "I'm think I'm gonna grab a bottle of water and head upstairs."

"Want company?" Sean asks, grinning and raising an eyebrow beneath his curly hair.

"Sure," she replies. Shocked but pleased, Sean gets up but Gillian stops him mid-step. "Raven, care to join me for a night of girl talk and possible _cuddling_?"

Raven beams and stands up from the recliner, kicking the foot rest back into the chair. "Why, I thought you'd never ask, Gill." The girls go into the kitchen for pita chips and pork rinds, quickly heading up the stairs afterward.

Alex stifles a laugh and punches Sean in the shoulder. "I think you just got shut down by a girl wearing kittens on her pajamas."

"I heard that, Alex!" Gillian shouts from upstairs. "They were a gift from my grandma!"


	11. CHAPTER TEN

**Finally, a chapter with something exciting.**

* * *

><p>Everyone is woken up the next morning by Charles gently pillaging their minds, it's almost like a soft shoulder nudge and a hand tousling hair. The sun splutters lambency into Gillian's bedroom through the gauzy drapery hanging from the window sill. She groans, rubbing the weariness from her eyes and rolling over onto Raven's dainty feet at the head of the brass plated bed. Raven is tucked into the dendritic duvet, legs sprawled everywhere, and still snoozing with her head under the blanket.<p>

Gillian suppresses a snort and slinks out from beneath the eiderdown, walking to the foot of the bed where Raven lay somnolent. Screaming and thrashing her arms all over, she jumps onto Raven. A shriek of surprise and disorientation, plus a backhand that lams her clean off the innerspring, throws Gillian onto the tapestry with a _thud_. Aghast, she clutches the duvet and looks down to find Gillian spread across the floor.

"My God, Gillian," she gasps, throwing the comforter off and running to Gillian. "I'm so sorry! You scared me!"

Gillian holds a hand to her burning, swollen face, eyes wide and mouth agape. "So you _slap_ me?"

"It's reflex!" Raven replies, holding out a hand to Gillian.

"Oh, so you don't mind that this is reflex too...?" Gillian grabs Raven's hand and tries to pull her onto the damask carpet, but ends up pulling Raven straight down onto her, face rooted to Gillian's throbbing side. A spate of laughter hacks through the air and the door creaks open above both of the girls.

In walks Alex, Sean, and Erik with torpid eyes and wrinkles in their flannel pajama pants, hair either gnarled or standing on end. Erik yawns and rubs his moony eyes clear of exhaustion and stupor. "There was an ear-splitting scream, then a banging sound. Like someone stumbled and hit the floo–" Erik stops and raises an eyebrow at the girls.

Sean gawks at the sight before him, throwing his balled fists into the air. "It's a dream come true!"

With an annoyed groan, Erik and Alex slap him on the back of the head. "You're disgusting," Alex says. Raven rolls off of Gillian and stands up from the floor, quickly pulling Gillian up with her. Alex filches Sean's cowlick in his fist and yanks him out of the door, Erik following close behind. "Bye," Alex tonelessly sing-songs.

Raven leaves Gillian's room shortly afterward to get dressed. Gillian notices a grey sweat suit sitting on the upholstered chair in the corner and puts it on after slipping out of her tulle pajamas. She rolls up one pant leg and both sleeves of her sweater, ties her hair up into a ponytail, and brushes her teeth in the bathroom at the end of the hall.

She goes downstairs to the kitchen and snatches an apple out of Sean's hand. "Hey! I already bit that!"

Gillian takes a bite of the macoun apple where Sean's teeth had already taken off skin, then fakes asphyxiation. "I trust that I won't drop dead from a little saliva, Sean."

He plucks the apple from her hand and holds it close. "Find your own apple."

She frowns and walks to the fridge, opening it and taking out a carton of juice. Gillian opens the lapels and peeks in to see its contents, swirling around the grume inside the carton and inhaling the salty, bitter scent of yucca root. She puts it back onto the shelf, instead taking out a bottle of water. Hank gracelessly gaits by in his white lab coat and clears his throat from behind Gillian.

"I made french toast this morning and left it in the microwave, help yourself to some if you'd like," he says.

Sean jumps over the marmoreal island and opens the microwave, taking out three slices of french toast. "Wow, Hank," he begins, stuffing the slivers of french toast into his mouth. "This french toast is _awesome_."

Hank smiles nervously and motions for Gillian to help herself, but politely, she declines. "After taking a whiff of that yucca root juice, I think I've lost my appetite for breakfast."

"It's Erik's." Hank replies. "He says that it's beneficial for tenderness and pain caused by arthritis and inflammation in the body."

Gillian crinkles her nose. "I'll believe it when I see it."

Hank and Gillian talk a little about training for five or so minutes, expectations, ideas, odds and ends. There is a sound like the midsole of a shoe against wood, Charles treads the stairs and arrives into the kitchen with hair licked into shape and a charming smile pasted onto his face. He greets the boys with a pat on the back and accosts Gillian with a quick peck on the temple.

"My, you're perky this morning," Gillian says.

"Not as much _perky_ as I am excited," Charles replies. "I can't wait to get started. Hank, is everything ready?"

Hank nods timidly.

"Great!" he says, clapping his hands together. "I think my first victim will be..." He looks over the bevy of mutants and taps his finger to his mouth, his eyes lighting up as he looks to one person in particular. "Gillian."

Sean stifles a laugh and Gillian groans, standing up from her seat at the marmoreal island and following Hank and Charles down the corridor. Charles opens the door to a beautiful, sunlit room with archaic chairs and casement windows all over. Hank leads Gillian to a machine by the aperture and hesitantly tells her to take off her sweatshirt and t-shirt so that he can attach conducting strands to her. After she takes off her clothes, Hank quickly begins taping electrodes to her skin. His cheeks turn scarlet as he threads the wires through the electrodes near her breasts.

"Sorry," he mumbles quietly. He asks for assent before sliding a syringe into her skin and drawing a vial of blood, afterwards smoothing a band-aid over the prick in her arm. Hank takes it to his automaton and the machine makes sloshing sounds after he puts a sample of her blood onto a hyaline sheet of glass and scours it.

"I apologize for the ambience," Charles says, gesturing to the room in it's entirety. "We're still working on the laboratory."

Gillian shrugs. "I don't mind, it's beautiful in here."

"Okay," Charles starts, opening a closed curtain that slightly mirrors a mantilla. "Now that Hank has drawn blood, I think we can begin."

Hank pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose and looks closely into the screen of the machine. He punches some numbers and letters into the keyboard and waits for the computer to comply. More beeping and buzzing comes from the machine before it prints results onto a piece of paper that Hank closely observes.

"Vitals are normal, blood sugar is normal, everything is... normal."

"Charles, I can't exactly show you my mutation in here," Gillian peeps. "It's kind of dangerous."

"Oh, no need, my dear. Hank has told me all about your mutation."

Gillian raises an eyebrow, looking at Hank. "Oh, did he?"

"Yes. Now, I know what you do can have chancy effects. But maybe, for the sake of science and acuity, you can just 'start up' your mutation for me. I'd just like to be able to discern certain formalities while Hank monitors body temperature, heart rate, things like that."

Gillian grimaces. "I'm not sure about that, Charles. What if I hurt either of you?"

"Fine," Charles replies. He whispers something to Hank and ushers him from the room, locking the door behind him.

"What are you doing, Charles?"

He shrugs his shoulders, sitting down on the burnished window seat. "It's just you and I now. Hank was a little apprehensive about the idea of you 'jump-starting' your mutation, I'm not making anyone do anything that discourages them." Charles folds his hands into his lap and simpers. "So, I'm ready."

"You do realize that I'm not doing this, right?" she asks, brazenly putting her hands on her haunches.

"Why not?"

"Well, for one, I could probably _kill_ you!"

"And two?"

She is silenced in thought. "I only had one."

"I trust you."

His idiom is fleeting, almost like the moment of allaying quiescence that follow his words. Gillian feels a swell in her heart like none that she has ever felt before, the augmentation is warming and gentle like that instance of Charles waking everyone up this morning. She smiles blandly at Charles and positions herself as far away from him as possible, trembling at the thought of harming him.

"What if I can't stop it?" she asks from the corner.

The question hangs like the crystalline chandelier on the ceiling. Charles nods at her, signaling the derivation of her mutation, hands already quavering at her sides. The air immediately heats up, maybe 15 or 20 degrees above the normal temperature. Charles begins to perspire, stripping off his sticky sweatshirt and throwing it onto the ingrain carpet. Gillian's head begins to pound and she cautiously wipes the sweat from her brow.

"C-Charles," she stutters through clenched teeth. "I...it's not stopping. I-I can't stop it."

He peels off his t-shirt too and opens all of the windows. "You are," he pants. "_God_, it's like the inside of a kiln in here." He wipes his brow and points to her. "You are in control. Restrain it, Gillian."

She tries so hard to hold it all back, balling her hands into fists and digging her nails into her skin, drawing blood from wounds contending to heal. Gillian lets out a strangled cry as a quick wave of heat erupts from her, throwing Charles off of his feet and out of the opened window. He isn't hurt because the room is on the ground floor, but he swiftly climbs back in through the aperture and rushes to a convulsing Gillian.

"Hank! Hank!" he shouts, lifting up her chin. Hank can be heard struggling with the door's disc padlock, he shoulders the wood a couple times and eventually breaks it open. He rushes over to Gillian, kneeling down beside Charles. "What should we do?"

Hank puts hand above her mouth and nods. "She's breathing on her own, that's a good sign."

"But she's still convulsing!"

Hank looks around quickly and his eyes land on a syringe filled with a cloudy silver broth. He rushes to grab it, and runs back, accidentally sliding into Charles and knocking him over. He apologizes and pierces Gillian's thigh with the needle. She arches her back for a moment and the convulsions stop.

"What's in there, Hank?"

He shrugs. "I'm not really sure what to call it. All I know is that it brings subjugating mutations to a standstill."

"Fascinating," Charles replies, fingering the syringe.

Gillian bolts upright, gasping for eluded air and clutching Charles and Hank. She tries to gather her words, but there is so little air left in her lungs and so much heat disseminating in the room. Her first thought is to apologize to Charles for everything, but instead she takes a few more seconds to breathe and calm down.

"What the _hell_ was that!" she shouts to no one in particular. "That hurt!"

Charles laughs. "Well, she's back."

Hank sighs in relief, capping the syringe and standing up from his spot on the floor.

She can hardly look at Charles. "I told you that you'd get hurt, Charles. I told you I couldn't stop it," she pants.

"You might not have stopped 'it'," Charles begins, hand on Gillian's head. "But you stopped something." He turns to Hank, pointing at the whirring machine. "Hank, I want those results as soon as humanly possible. Understood?"

Hank nods frantically and runs to the computer, printing out a new sheet of paper with numbers and letters on it.

Charles strokes Gillian's hair as she fights to breathe again. "I'm proud of you."

She smiles awkwardly, running a finger over a scathing burn on his arm. "Do you still trust me? Even after all of this?"

"Of course," he replies, no hesitation at all.


	12. CHAPTER ELEVEN

"Charles! Charles! My God, Charles!" Hank shouts, bolting down the corridor and practically tripping over his Florsheim penny loafers. "Gillian!" Hank runs into the den to find Gillian fanned out on the ottoman, eyes closed and hands folded on her stomach. "Gillian! I have news!" he says, rousing her gently by the shoulders.

Slowly, Gillian opens her eyes and looks at him. She blinks a few times and stretches her arms, sitting up to face Hank. "Geez, how long was I asleep?"

"Fifteen minutes at most," he replies, dangling the piece of paper in her face. "I have results, tons of results."

She chuckles halfheartedly, shaking her head with an apathetic smile. "I don't think you can tell me anything that I don't already know about myself."

"I bet I can," Hank says, taking her hand and helping her off of the couch. His eyes are alight with excitement, it's the happiest Gillian has seen Hank since she met him a couple days ago. She follows him into the ingress, through the corridor he came bounding down, then eventually back to the refulgent sunroom where Charles waits outside the broken door.

"I could hear you shouting from a mile away, Hank," Charles laughs. "What's the problem?"

Hank runs into the room, lab coat flapping in the breeze from the opened window. Charles and Gillian follow close behind him, exchanging looks of curiosity. He punches in keys that resemble regalias, making numbers and letters pop up on the computer screen. A few seconds later, a body layout materializes on screen with statistics appearing in a large chart right beside it: body mass index, weight, blood type, etcetera, etcetera.

He steps back from the machine, gesturing to the computer. Gillian and Charles lean in closer and scan the screen, eyes wide and mouths gaping.

"Is that supposed to be me?" Gillian asks Hank, pointing to the figure on the computer.

Hank shrugs. "Roughly, it's your physical makeup. But that's not important." He shuffles through other pieces of paper, torn, shoddy pieces of paper. "I've made a discovery regarding your mutation."

"Well," Gillian begins. "What is it?"

"As you already know, when you prompt or..._switch on_ your mutation, your body temperature rises, as does the encompassing air, so that's really nothing new–"

"_God_, Hank! Spit it out!" Gillian laughs.

He jumps slightly at her clamorous tone, arranging the papers in his hand and holding them all out for her to take. She divides the stack and hands half of the papers to a patient Charles. Gillian absentmindedly tinkers with the corners of the first page, scouring the folio for anything interesting. Something does catches the eyes of Charles and Gillian, both swapping looks at each other.

"150 degrees?" Charles asks.

Gillian's unhinged jaw and astray eyes snag all the attention in the room. She looks at Hank and jabs her finger onto the folio, one highlighted, underlined section in particular. "SECOND MUTATION!"

Hank nods excitedly, running back to the sibilating automaton and punching in more keys. "That's what I was getting to! It seems that by bridling your outburst, your body strained to use the surplus energy for something else. Thus, by 'holding back', you harbored a new mutation."

"Do you know what this 'new mutation' is, Hank?" Charles asks calmly, inwardly lulling Gillian's rushing mind.

"Well, stats show that it has something to do with dissolution."

Gillian raises an eyebrow. "So you're saying that I can disintegrate stuff?"

Charles and Hank nod. "I suppose it's fitting. Well, considering the fact that you can blow yourself to kingdom come and disintegration is basically a tempered, delicate way of exploding," Charles chuckles. "I guess we'll have to find out exactly what this means for you, Gillian."

"I'll tell you what it means!" Gillian shouts, heedlessly shoving the papers back into Hank's hands. "It means I'm even more dangerous than we all thought!" She stomps out of the room, purposely ramming her shoulder into the broken door on her way out.

Charles sighs, "Gillian!" He goes to the door and sticks his head out of the room to see her plodding down the corridor.

* * *

><p>It's drafty outside, but the weather is nice overall and the sun is effulgent. There are no Gadwalls in the pond at the end of the acreage and no birds in the sky. Gillian sits on the small wall of stonework outside of the manor, both hands on her face, kicking her feet into the rubbery grass. She's not really mad, just slightly annoyed and kind of apathetic with a dab of digestive upset and she has no clue as to why.<p>

Alex watches from the casement window and feels obliged to talk to her, walking through many corridors and arriving outside. He stands in front of her, staring down at her head of henna curls and folded hands.

"Do you mind?" she asks, looking up at him. "You're blocking my sunlight."

He side-steps and takes a seat next to her on the crag. He sighs loudly, "I take it that your testing didn't blow over so well."

She laughs dryly, "I wonder how you got that idea."

Alex kicks the sod, frowning. "Everyone's kinda worried, ya know?"

"About what?"

He looks up at her. "About you."

This time, her laugh gains buoyancy and she runs a slightly trembling hand through her hair. Gillian doesn't really know how to take that thought, everyone goading and writhing in their skin over a little russet-haired girl that they all just met. She scratches at the nape of her neck, quietly mumbling something to herself that Alex can't interpret.

"Why don't you all let _me_ worry about me?" she replies, tone stale.

Alex shifts through the awkward silence. "Let's go down to the pond," he asks, his voice grating with fear that his proposal will be spurned. Puzzled, Gillian looks at him with an eyebrow cocked. "I've only been down there once, but the walk is short and it's beautiful."

She frowns slightly and stands up, Alex following after. "Why not." They cross the spanning acreage and arrive at a glassy lily pond at the end of the field, sitting down beside each other on the dry turf. There's a stillness for a moment filled with punting rocks and soft breathing. "So, how did your testing go?" She laughs quietly, "Hopefully, better than mine?"

He shrugs and picks up a stone, skipping it across the glazed surface of the pond. "It was just... _testing_, I guess. Hank found out that the 'potency' and heat I _'_emit' is created by my own _vis mortua_." He skips another stone. "Whatever the hell that means. He always uses big, difficult words around me that he knows I don't understand."

"He just means that whatever power your mutation gives off is created by your body abstaining from something," Gillian replies. "I don't understand that, though. I would think that _vis viva_ makes more sense."

"Why are you so smart?" Alex asks, talking over the last part of her explanation. Gillian looks at him quizzically, not really understanding him and shaking her head. "I mean, how you act sometimes makes me think otherwise. But then you say these things and I'm left speechless."

Gillian smiles slightly, still in stupor. "I'm not really that smart, I just paid attention in science."

"But–" Alex starts, but is interrupted.

"What _you_ call 'smart', _I_ call 'interpreting'," she replies. "I paid attention in English too."

"Well, ya know, it's hard to pay attention in school when you have guys threatening to beat your ass all the time," Alex replies, his ton swathed in barbed wire.

She scoffs and rolls her eyes. "I find that every time we talk, the conversation always takes a left turn on Bitter Street and maybe, _sometimes_ makes a U-turn to Hostile Avenue."

"It sounds stupid when you put it like that." Gillian shakes her head in disbelief. Alex puts his head down, scratching the nape of his neck. He chuckles after a moment and runs a hand through his golden hair, picking up a handful of pebbles and chucking them into the lily pond. "I'm sorry. I _am_ a douche bag after all, right?"

The silence is agonizing.

"You're not a douche bag," Gillian says after the moment of reticence. "I'm sorry that I ever told you that."

He nods, smiling. "I'm not taking back what I said about you being a bitch, though. You do have your moments."

"You might not be a douche bag," she starts, punching him hard in the arm. "But you are still a jerk." Alex grunts and massages his arm, then there is a brief torrent of laughter shared between the two. "Besides, I'm sure that you're good at something. It might not be school-related or even knowledge-wise." She looks at him, squinting her eyes from the sun's radiance. "So, what is it, Alex?"

He thinks hard for a second and looks back at Gillian. "Fighting."

"Fighting?"

"Yeah." He whips out a few slow demonstration jabs onto the air. "Before I was put in solitary confinement, I got into fights every single day. Won some and lost some, but for the most part, I won." Alex peels off his grey sweatshirt and tosses it behind him, rolling up his shirt sleeve and mapping out a scar with his finger.

Gillian leans in closer and traces it with her finger. "It looks like it's supposed to be a crown, but it wasn't finished."

Alex nods and rolls his sleeve back down. "Yeah," he laughs halfheartedly. "This foreign guy who spoke some Slavic language kept screaming at me during lunch, when I finally said something back, he jumped over the table with a switchblade and started cutting into my arm."

She gasps and holds her hand to her mouth. "My God, Alex. What happened?"

"The guards came, obviously! By the time they had pulled him off, my blood was all over the place," Alex replies. "They figured that it was me who started it and sent me to solitary."

"That's not fair!" Gillian shouts.

Alex shrugs. "I liked solitary better, there was no risk of hurting anyone."

Gillian knits her brows together and leans her elbows onto her kneecaps. She is tempted to say something about his big heart, no doubt gilded in gold, but she keeps it to herself. Words that she wants to say are lost in the lulling silence and she has so many questions but there is the possibility of very little answers in her wake. She picks up a stone and throws it into the pond, the water crinkles like a strip of cellophane and the lily pads dole out across the surface.

"Why were you in jail anyway?"

"That's really none of anyone's business," he replies, but his voice is tiny and innocent.

Gillian shrugs and pulls her knees closer into her chest. "I was just asking."

"I know you were, but there is a lot that you don't know about me, Gillian," Alex says gently, picking up his sweater and walking off.

"But so much that I wish I did," she mumbles, skipping another stone across the pond.

* * *

><p>Gillian doesn't even realize how late it is until she hears Raven hollering her name over the rampant winds. She turns around, waving her over from across the acreage. Raven looks petulant from afar, pouting her lip and pulling her cardigan close as she scurries across the field in a pair of whiskered slippers. She keeps shouting something as she runs, but the current catches her voice and blows it away.<p>

"What the hell are you doing out here?" Raven asks, pulling a tuft of blonde hair behind her ear and tucking her hands into her pockets. "There's a thunderstorm coming this way!"

Gillian shrugs, looking back at the lily pond. "Skipping stones and thinking."

"Well, go think inside! In your room! You'll be struck by lightning sitting out here!" The shouting doesn't stop because the wind is more violent and her hair looks unruly in the currents.

"I'll be fine!" she replies over the roaring of the sky.

Raven shakes her head furiously, putting a hand out. "No, you won't! Come inside with me!"

Gillian puts her hands up defensively and rises to her feet. "Okay, mom!"

Galled and slightly affronted, Raven gasps and grabs for Gillian's hand, leading her across the field. The thicket surrounding the manor moans and it reminds Gillian of her younger days when she'd climb into her mother's bed and snuggle into her bosom. She can't keep up with Raven's pace and digs her heels into the sod, forcing Raven to stop pulling her along. Raven turns around to confront her, face a lovely shade of red and hair flying into her blue eyes.

"What are you doing!" Raven screams. She would've been loud with Gillian, regardless of the wind.

"Wait for it!" Gillian says, smiling at the grey clouds. All of a sudden, it begins to rain. It's not even the gradual drizzle that turns into a downpour, it's full on rain, pelting both girls in the face and drenching their clothes. Gillian puts her hands up and opens her mouth, twirling around and catching drops on her tongue.

Raven stands in front of her, mouth agape in surprise and hands out. "Gillian! What the hell!"

"It's wonderful! Isn't it!" Gillian asks, taking Raven's hand and spinning her.

Raven snatches her arm away and grabs Gillian's hand again, dragging her into the mansion and slamming the door shut, locking it. They are both dripping onto the wood floor of the foyer and in disbelief of the heavy rain. Erik walks by with two towels just as they begin wringing their clothes out.

"This weather is ludicrous," he states, looking over both of the dripping girls. "Isn't it?"

"It's great!" Gillian chimes, though her hair is in her eyes and her clothes are sticking to her. "It's absolutely great!"

Erik half-smirks and half-grimaces, throwing towels to both of them. "Avoid dripping on the tiles, yes?"


	13. CHAPTER TWELVE

The next morning Gillian apologizes to Charles over eggs Florentine and fairly pulpy orange juice. She realizes now that part of being a mutant naturally is learning to accept who she is because there is no way to change. Charles is tempted to probe her mind because Gillian has a strangely gripping personality and a raging aurora, but decides against it and shakes his head clean of the thought.

Gillian forks a leaf of spinach into her mouth and points her silverware at Charles. "I honestly don't know how you all put up with me. I can be such a drama queen if you haven't already noticed," she says, wiping yolk from the corner of her mouth with a patterned napkin.

"You're not a drama queen," Charles replies, taking a bite of his shirred egg. "Everyone danders up."

"But I was so _rude_," Gillian presses, sharply accenting her words.

Charles sighs, "Gillian–"

"Just accept my apology and let me feel better about myself, Charles!" she chuckles, covering her mouth from the running yolk dribbling forth over her lips. Gillian just keeps laughing and drops her flatware onto the porcelain tiles, holding her stomach with one hand from her spate of laughter.

Charles bursts into a flurry of chortling alongside Gillian, hemming up a string of saliva and quickly wiping his mouth and shirt. "My, that's humiliating."

Gillian motions to her entirety. "_That's_ humiliating? I'm sitting here drowned in saliva and egg yolk!" She dabs her mouth and tee shirt with a napkin. "Now that I've made a fool of myself, do you forgive me?"

He nods and sets his napkin down. "Of course I do."

She smiles at him and picks up both pieces of bone china, bringing them over to the sink and washing them with a chunk of steel wool. "What's on the menu for today, Charles?" Gillian asks, wiping off her hands with the dish towel.

"Training," he replies, standing up from his spot at the marmoreal island.

"Ah, got something up your sleeve for everyone?"

Charles smirks and teeters his hand. "I suppose one could say that."

Satisfied, Gillian nods and tucks the dish towel away in the cabinet. "Great, I can't wait to see what you have in store for me."

He points at her and winks as he walks from the kitchen. "Don't hold your breath, Gillian," he replies. "By the time I've finished, I'll have you _wishing_ you never said that."

Gillian puts her hands up and wiggles her fingers. "Oh, I'm _so scared_."

Charles unleashes a hearty chuckle and leaves the kitchen. Gillian sighs and rests her hands on the marmoreal island, taking a deep breath and a moment to scrape clean her mind and comb her split nails through her ringlets. She pushes off of the island and trudges the stairs, walking to her bedroom to grab a loose fitting tee shirt and a pair of sweat pants. Gillian goes to the end of the hallway and just as she is about to step in the bathroom, Sean slides between her and the frame, slamming the door behind himself.

She stands there in shock with her jaw unhinged and arms out. "Sean! What the hell?"

"You snooze, you lose!" he shouts from the other side of the door.

Gillian leans against the wall, waiting for him to finish in the bathroom. The door to Alex's bedroom opens up and he walks outside, hair matted down in different directions and some strands standing on end. Gillian stifles a giggle and puts her hand to her mouth with one hand, waving to him with the other.

"Good morning, Sunshine!" she chirps. "I _love_ the hair."

He gives her the finger and a mumbles some vulgarities before clambering down the staircase. Sean rushes out of the bathroom a couple minutes later and speeds by Gillian to avoid getting slapped by her descending hand.

After taking a shower, Gillian gathers her dirty clothes from the floor and opens the bathroom door, walking back to her room and throwing the wad of clothing into a laundry basket. She takes a seat on the archaic chair and plaits her large lock of hair over her shoulder.

Charles inwardly messages everyone, telling them to meet in the courtyard. Gillian takes her time getting there, pulling on a pair of tennis shoes, checking her hair once, and finally leaving her room. By the time she gets to the courtyard, everyone is already there in active wear, frowns adorned on their faces.

"What?" Gillian asks. "I'm here."

"Okay," Charles claps his hands together. "I won't waste time on an empty introduction, so I'll get straight to it. What I want – before I begin strengthening your abilities – is trust." He gestures to the troupe of mutants and himself. "Trust among our group, trust among one another, trust." He smiles and paces back and forth in slow strides. "So, today, I'm going to divide you all up into groups of two." Charles quickly divides the troupe into pairs: Gillian to Erik, Hank to Sean, and Raven to Alex.

Raven raises her hand. "I don't like this already."

"Patience, my dear," Charles says. "I'm not expecting you all to fall and await your partner's ethical arms to catch you." He doles out bandanas to one person in each pair. "Tie those around your eyes as a blindfold."

Hank and Raven fasten the bandanas over their eyes with ease. Frustrated, Gillian struggles with the knot and lets out a chain of obscenities. "Calm down, Gillian," Eric says, swatting her hands away from the mess of cloth. He gently tethers the bandana around her eyes and drops his hands to his sides. "There, nothing to fuss over."

"Thanks," she replies.

"Now, I'd like for you all to link arms with your partner behind your back," Charles says.

With a few grunts of discomfort and blatant discontent, the pairs get their arms linked together behind their backs. "Now for the challenge–"

"There's more?" Gillian shrieks. "This is challenge enough!" She quickly is silenced by Erik.

"As I was saying," Charles begins. "I have planted three flags on three separate trees in the backwoods surrounding the manor. There is a yellow flag for Erik and Gillian, a red flag for Hank and Sean, and a green flag for Raven and Alex." He motions to the backwoods, "Use all means necessary to find your flag, first team back here wins."

Sean nudges Hank and quietly whispers, "We've got this."

"The only rule that I have is that one person must stay blindfolded at all times, and you must stay conjoined," Charles says. He maps out a starting line and everyone gets into position beside on another. "Ready, set, GO!" Charles shouts, blowing a whistle.

They all run as fast as possible, stumbling over each other legs and getting smacked with flailing arms. Erik practically drags Gillian along behind him, when they finally reach the thicket, Gillian digs her feet into the silt and forces Erik to stop.

"I don't like this, Erik!" she shouts. "You're dragging me!"

"Keep up then!" he replies.

"I'm sorry that I can't run backwards at the speed of a fucking cheetah!" Gillian says, her outburst is followed by a sigh.

Erik growls slightly. "So what do you suppose we do? We can't possibly win by just _lounging_ around."

"I'm not sure, all I know is that there are other ways to win besides speed." She mentally assays everyone's mutations, sometimes speaking aloud without realizing what she's doing.

Erik taps his foot impatiently. "Any time now..."

"Shut up and let me think," she replies quietly. "Okay, so Sean and Hank obviously have the advantage because of Hank's speed and stamina and Sean's ability to detect objects with his mutation. Raven could just as easily morph into either of them for her own benefit, and Alex could tear down some trees but not without risking Raven's safety–"

"Your point, please?"

"All I can do is explode!" she shouts. "What _good_ is that going to do us?"

"Certainly none seeing as I'm practically stuck to you," Erik grumbles. He beams with a sudden thought. "I have an idea."

Erik hardly outstretches an upturned hand and the terra firma begins to roar with life. He closes his eyes tight, raising his hand as high as he can while still remaining connected to Gillian, a trail of sweat breaking on his raised brow. Metal flies to him from every direction, even uncovering from moist patches in the ground. All of the metal liquefies and fuses together to create a large leaf of alloy, almost like a thin platform.

Gillian moves her head around upon hearing all of the shrill, metallic sounds resonating through the wind. "Erik? Erik, what's going on?"

"No time for vindication," Erik replies, leading Gillian onto the dais. "Just hold tight. Really, really, tight." Erik's grip on her is so tight that it's almost cutting.

She can feel the world whizzing past her, wind whipping her hair back and forth and occasionally in Erik's face. The alloy plate bends and sometimes ambles through the backwoods, passing trees and branches. Gillian leans back into Erik just as they take an abrupt turn, shouting in surprise and lets out a cord of profanities.

"Where are we going!" she screams.

They whisk by Raven and Alex so fast that the pair can't even figure out what's going on.

"I see it! I see our flag!" Erik hollers over the flogging winds. When they reach the tree, he bends over to snag it, Gillian groaning in discomfort. "Hold on to this, Gillian," he says, placing the flag in her hand.

She nods and clenches her fist, holding on tight to the pennon. They speed back to the finish line on the disk of silver, racing past all the same trees and branches they had avoided on the way to the flag.

Charles claps as they approach the finish line. Erik halts the disk and steps off, helping Gillian down also.

"Great! Marvelous! That is teamwork!" Charles chirps. They unhook arms and Gillian shakes her head, making the bandana fall around her throat. "So, where's the flag?"

Gillian beams and opens her fist to an upturned hand, but nothing more than a pile of pulverulent yellow dust lies in her palm. Erik's face drops and he turns around to mutter atrocities to himself, sometimes punching the air with a balled fist.

"Darn," she drags out. "I disintegrated the flag, didn't I?"

Charles nods excitedly. "This is great!"

"But his also means that we... _lost_. Doesn't it?" She holds out the grit in her hand to Charles. "The flag is _gone_."

Charles looks to Erik and Gillian, then to the atomized flag. Much to everyone's dismay, he nods and scratches the nape of his neck, trying to think of an irregularity in their favor, but can't even figure one out. He apologizes quietly before Erik curses again and angrily trods away, fists at his side and vulgarities spewing from his mouth.

"Erik!" Gillian calls. "I'm sorry!"

"No, no! Don't apologize!" Charles says. "This is amazing! I didn't expect your second mutation to divulge so quickly. How did you do it?"

She shrugs, watching Sean and Hank dart across the acreage with the pennon in Sean's hand. "I don't know. I didn't _will_ it to happen, it was an accident," she replies.

"Professor! Professor! We have the fl–" Sean begins but his words falter. He notices Gillian and frowns. "Are we too late?"

Gillian puts a hand up in defense, holding out the other with yellow dust on it. "I disintegrated our flag so we lose. Congrats," she answers dryly.

Sean cheers and unhooks himself from Hank, unfastening the bandana from his eyes. "Your second mutation kicked in?" Hank asks, quickly rushing to Gillian's side to examine the dust in her hand.

"Dude!" Sean shouts. "We just won! Forget about the dust in her hand for a second!"

"Fascinating," Hank whispers, fingering the grit on her upturned palm.

"Geez," Sean huffs. "We win and Gillian _still_ gets the attention."

"Jealous?" Gillian asks, smiling.


	14. CHAPTER THIRTEEN

**Drama, drama, drama. Haha, enjoy!**

* * *

><p>Charles inwardly pages Raven to let her know that the game has ended, but she replies telling him that her and Alex are lost in the backwoods encircling the house. He rounds up the remainder of the troupe (except for Erik who's too busy brooding over a cup of Earl Grey tea) and sends them out into the thicket to find the lost pair. Sean immediately yips and the sonic vibrations from his throat detect the two stragglers. Everyone dodges sprigs and branches for what feels like hours until they finally find Raven and Alex.<p>

Both have grime on their clothes and small pieces of twig sticking out of their hair. Raven clenches the bandana in her hand while trying to pull her foot out of a pool of sludge, mud drowning her shoe and dotting her pants. They notice the assemblage coming to their aid and sprint for them.

Raven hugs Gillian and holds onto her, muttering about what a terrible time the game was and how they should've been partners. She lets go and turns to face Charles. "I told you I didn't like this idea!" she shouts, motioning to herself then Alex. "I didn't want him as my partner! Look what happened to me!"

"It was only an exercise, Raven," Charles sighs.

"But do you _see_ what happened?" Raven replies, gesturing to the pieces of wood in her hair and the grit on her clothes. "It's all his fault! He walked me straight into a tree! On _purpose_! Why couldn't you have paired me up with someone else?"

Alex puts his hands up in defense. "You aren't the best partner either."

"Stop this," Charles says quietly. "The both of you are being nonsensical."

She bedamns Alex and points a finger at his face. "You're ridiculous! I don't know how everyone puts up with your... your—"

"_Nobility_? _Heroism_? _Greatness_?" Alex asks, face adorned with a toothy grin. "Stop me when you find the right word—"

"Bullshit!" Raven shouts, picking twigs from golden fibers of hair. "I don't know how anyone puts up with your _bullshit_!" Her face is a finger's breadth from his own, flushed with eyes on fire. "Your jokes aren't funny, Alex!"

"Alex, Raven," Charles begins, but is ignored by the fighting.

"They aren't?" Alex asks cynically, his intonation evident.

"Yes! And you know what else?"

"What?"

"You're not _strong_!"

"Raven," Charles whispers. "Calm your mind."

"You're not _noble_!"

"Raven," Gillian says, her tone somber and her voice louder. "Charles told you to stop."

"And you're not likable!" she screams over the rampant winds. "I _don't_ like you!"

"Raven!" Gillian shouts, all the attention turning to her. "_Stop_."

Raven looks to the henna-haired girl in disbelief, jaw almost begging to unhinge but somehow she keeps her skepticism to herself. Gillian hides her timidity under a stern face and hard eyes. A punch in the jaw would be a lot more painless than having to stand under Raven's harsh glare, eyes like bayonets and machine guns and explosives. Maybe she's so hurt that she's angry, or she could just be angry altogether.

She takes a step away from Alex, right into Gillian's direction. She opens her mouth as if to say something, but gapes like a fish out of water, mouth ajar then mouth shut, over and over again.

"I know you want to ask me why I'm standing up for him," Gillian says to Raven, breaking the silence with a shrug. "Because no one deserves to be degraded like that."

Alex — still recovering from the shock of it all — looks at Gillian with empty eyes.

"And, if that makes me a hypocrite for saying everything that I said to you when we first met, Alex, then so be it." She nods, eyes to the ground. "I'm sorry."

Raven slightly snarls. "But what about everything he's ever said to you? He's humiliated you and threatened you. I was only saying what everyone else is too scared to say."

"I won't apologize for standing up for him, Raven," Gillian replies. "Because what you said is exactly like someone telling me I'm worthless, or someone telling you that you're ugly, or telling Hank that he isn't smart."

Hank looks away, a slight blush creeping onto his paling cheeks. Charles quietly whispers something to Hank, Sean, and Alex, ushering the troupe from the thicket. "They need to work this out by themselves," he says.

Neither Raven nor Gillian has heard a word of Charles utterance, for they are too busy focusing on each other. Sizing up body structure, height, maybe weight. Gillian even matches the odds and evens if Raven were to lay siege on her, who has the advantage with what and what the situation might erupt into.

Gillian takes a deep breath and kicks a pile of browning leaves. "They're gone," she laughs dryly.

"Why would you turn on me like that?" Raven asks, her voice small and shady. "I thought we stuck together. Next thing I know, you're on _his side_." She motions to the part of the backwoods that the boys had retreated to.

"I'm only on _his side_ because what you said was wrong," she replies. "You didn't have to be so dramatic about it, it's only an exercise."

Raven scoffs, "Dramatic?"

"I bet you didn't even _see_ his eyes while you were screaming at him," Gillian says. "They were on _fire_. If I have ever seen anything so real and choleric, it has to be those _eyes_. You were on thin ice, Raven. Very thin, cracked, ice."

Anger suddenly evades the air and Raven cracks a canny smile. "You like him."

Gillian, taken aback, raises an eyebrow and shakes her head. "_No_. No. No!" she says, slightly looking up from the ground. "No?"

Raven nods excitedly. "Yes." She runs a hand through her blonde hair and laughs. "You _like_ him. You do like him, right?"

Gillian throws her hands down in frustration. "I don't know. Maybe?" She paces the terra firma with her hand on her forehead, pushing back the curly fringe in her eyes. "But he's everything I _wouldn't_ date!"

Raven quizzically puts a finger to her chin. "Well, he's cute—"

"_Gorgeous_," Gillian blurts, giggling.

"Okay," Raven replies, nodding. "I'll give you that one."

"And he's so _tempting_, Raven. Every time we're alone I want to—"

Raven raises an eyebrow. "You want to what?"

"Ravish him!"

A bout of laughter ensues and the girls hold onto their stomachs. The currents don't allay and the leaves don't stop rolling across the old sod and loam, but the fit of laughter eventually quiets down and stops. Gillian is glad that the auricomous conversation has ended and the moment is lightened up by hilarity and lust and the sun beaming through the softwood trees in the thicket.

She slowly walks to Raven and puts out both hands, upturned and eager. Raven takes them both and smiles at her, in that moment it's almost tempting for both of the girls to cry. They've only know each other for a couple days, but have grown so close because of the lack of a ladylike, feminine presence in their lives.

"Are we friends again?" Gillian asks. "I couldn't live through my time here with just those boys."

Raven jokingly takes the thought into consideration and nods. "I'm really sorry, Gill. I hope I didn't hurt your feeling or anything?"

Gillian shakes her head and releases Raven's hand. She quietly leads Raven out of the backwoods and into the fields encircling the manor. "You know, I actually thought—" she begins, but stops to look down at her hands. They tingle and hardly burn, but the feeling is uncomfortable.

"You thought what?" Raven asks, looking at Gillian's hands. "What's wrong?"

"My hands," she replies absentmindedly. "They feel weird." She turns to face all of the softwood trees in the thicket and puts her downturned hands out to face them, observing her arms. "I don't think I touched any poison ivy while we were in there." Her fingers start to glitter but she's only focused on her arms. Suddenly, blue beacons of light shoot out from her hands and hit a tree, disintegrating it on contact. "Oh my _God_!"

"What just happened!" Raven shouts, looking at the huge pile of dust that was an evergreen.

"Beams? This mutation works in beams too?" Gillian asks frantically to herself.

"I'm so lost right now!" Raven's eyes dart everywhere and anywhere: Gillian's hands, the pile of tree dust, the sky. "Is this your second mutation kicking in?"

"I guess so," she replies more calmly, observing her hands.

"Do it again! Do it again!" Raven cheers, clapping.

Gillian smiles nervously (or awkwardly) and faces another three, focusing on her energy and pushing out her arms. Another bright column of blue light discharges from her hands and hits a tree, disintegrating it. She laughs and Raven laughs after her, jumping and clapping and cheering.

"I've got to tell Hank and Charles about this!" she says, dragging Raven back to the manor.

* * *

><p>Hank was impressed by Gillian's progress but decided not to do anymore tests on her and let her mutation grow out on its own. After hearing the news, Raven wanted to celebrate with moonshine and riesling, but drinking and partying were completely out of the question. She had eventually convinced Gillian that some kind of glorification was, in fact, needed to exalt all that had happened during the day.<p>

So they lay, both on Gillian's bed. Raven resting upside down at the foot of the bed, her head and flaxen hair hanging off the edge. Gillian lolls against the head board, propped up by a body pillow and scratching the coral nail polish off of her fingernails.

"A party?" Raven asks.

"No, Raven," Gillian huffs, slapping a hand to her forehead.

Raven taps her finger to her chin. "Alcohol?"

Gillian throws a closure pillow at Raven's head and laughs as she falls off the bed. "I told you that both were out of the question!" Gillian replies.

"I got it!" Raven shouts, throwing a pointed finger into the air. "Let's go swimming!"

"Where?" Gillian asks. "The pond? The _lily_ pond?" Gillian heaves a sigh and pushes herself up on her knees, looking over the edge of the bed to Raven, lying spread-eagle across the damask carpet and rubbing her eyes. "Thanks for the suggestions, Raven. But I think you should just stop..._ suggesting_."

"Of course I meant swimming in the goddamn _lily_ pond," Raven replies sarcastically. "No, dummy!" She stands up and hits Gillian in the face with the closure pillow, knocking her backwards onto the duvet. "There's a waterfall pretty far into the forest and it leads into this gorge. It's beautiful, Gillian! We have to go swimming!"

Gillian broods the thought of swimming for a moment. The weather has been nice and the sun always burns brightest between the branches of softwood trees in the backwoods, and there are seemingly no animals around for miles. It would also help with the stress of training and just be an overall good time for everyone, hanging out and getting along.

"So...?" Raven drawls.

"Okay," Gillian says. "I'm in."

Since their arrival, Charles had forbid everyone to be outside the mansion past midnight for there was the possibility of another attack. But Raven and Gillian are determined to go swimming, even if it comes with consequences. They confer their plans once more after finishing the braised rack of ribs they had for dinner, trying to avoid appearing fishy or unusual. After they're sure that everyone has gone to bed for the night, they grab towels from the linen closet, slip on their shoes, and quietly worm out of the front door.

It's dark outside except for a small sliver of moon dangling in the sky. They dart across the acreage to avoid being seen, occasionally stumbling over each other or cavities hidden in the grass. Gillian looks back once to make sure that no lights are on in the mansion, and sure enough, every room is dark except for Charles'. The only light in his room is lamp light for reading.

When they finally make it to the backwoods, Gillian curses at herself and stops Raven about a third of a way into the forest. "I knew I was forgetting something! A bathing suit! How could we have forgotten those?"

"A bathing suit?" Raven looks down at herself and to Gillian. "Well, I hope that you didn't decide to go commando tonight! We can just swim in our underwear and stuff."

Gillian grimaces slightly but nods anyway. "I guess that could work."

"And a flashlight! We forgot a flashlight!" Raven whispers angrily.

"I think I might be able to help with that," Gillian replies, smirking. She shifts the towel onto her shoulder and holds out her hands. They glitter brightly with a bluish tint in the darkness, lighting up the thicket encircling them.

Raven nervously steps away and points to Gillian's sparkling hands. "Won't you disintegrate something if you keep that up?"

Gillian shakes her head and continues walking, Raven in tow behind her. "I'm not focusing all of my energy on it," she answers, shrugging. "All they can do right now is light up, unless I touch something." Raven is about to open her mouth to say something, but is silenced by Gillian. "Hank's words, not mine."

Apprehensively, Raven nods and follows behind her. "Whatever you say, as long as those hands don't touch me."

"Raven," Gillian sighs. "You're supposed to be leading me, I've never been this far into the woods before."

Raven groans and speeds up to slightly pass Gillian, being beside her, but still keeping a safe distance from her hands. Some redwood trees have a colored band stretched around the girth, it could be a trail marker because Raven keeps going in the direction of more banded trees. Suddenly, the sound of rushing water can be heard over the stillness of night and Raven speeds up her pace, Gillian rushing behind her with the light in her hands.

"Here it is," Raven says, pushing back a branch that immediately swings back to hit Gillian in the face. "Geez, Gill! I'm so sorry!"

Gillian lets the light in her hands die and fingers the bleeding scratch on her face, scowling at Raven. "Why do you always hurt me?" she asks, pushing away the branch and shoving Raven out of the way.

"It was an accident!" Raven exclaims, giggling slightly.

"Let me guess... _reflex_?" Gillian wipes a small trail of blood off the cut and onto her pants.

Raven only laughs and looks to the gorge. The waterfall crashes into the gorge and flicks drops of water everywhere, making the rocks slippery and shiny and comely all at the same time. The moon lights the small, surrounding area to a white, silvery color. It lights the water in the gorge and glimmers, also lighting up Raven's face and bringing out a natural elegance that Gillian can't help but the admire.

Raven watches her with raised eyebrows. "What are you looking at, Gill?"

"You look so _beautiful_ right now," Gillian answers. "Not that you don't look beautiful all the time, but this light, something about this light—"

She is interrupted by a low growling sound and twigs cracking. Gillian turns around to scream when a flashlight is shined into her eyes, momentarily blinding her. She throws a glittery blue hand out, it touches something and the flashlight goes out. Someone shrieks in response and curses.

"Way to go, Gill," Sean says. "You disintegrated the flashlight."


	15. CHAPTER FOURTEEN

**Lucky you and my fast updating, haha. Do I smell drama and... romance? At last? Enjoy!**

* * *

><p>The light in her hand goes out and she sighs, punching Sean in the arm. "What the hell? Why did you sneak up on us like that? I could've disintegrated you!"<p>

Alex emerges from the branches, timidly followed by Hank. "Hey ladies," Alex says.

"Why are you all here anyway?" Raven asks, crossing her arms over her chest. "How did you know we were here?"

"Well," Sean begins. "We wanted to swim, and you girls aren't as quiet and deceitful as you might have thought you were."

"Way to go, Gillian," Raven mutters.

"Actually," Alex drawls. "It was you that we heard, Raven."

Gillian turns to Raven and crosses her arms across her chest, grinning. "Way to go, _Raven_."

"Hush!" Raven says, trying to suppress a laugh.

"And," Sean starts, gesturing with wide arms to Hank. "We even got Hank to come!"

Gillian brazenly puts her hands on her haunches and looks at Sean, then Alex, then finally to Hank. "What did they say to you?"

"They called me a chicken and told me that I don't know how to have fun," Hank answers warily. "So, here I am."

Gillian smiles and pats him on the shoulder. "Well, the more the merrier. I'm glad you decided to leave the lab for once."

Alex furrows his eyebrows and points to the graze on the skin of her face. "What happened here? You're bleeding."

"Just a branch," she answers, rolling her eyes toward Raven. "I'm fine."

She cleans off another line of blood and wipes her hand on her pants. Raven sets her towel down and calls her over toward the crag border where she's standing. Gillian walks over and tosses her towel down onto the glistening crag. They both peel off their clothes until getting down to their undergarments, the tension and avidity is tangible in the air and amongst the teens. Gillian takes her hair out of the slapdash bun atop her head, pulling the hair tie around her wrist and shaking loose her tumbling russet ringlets. She nods to Raven and both sprint across the rocks and dive into the gorge.

There's a splash as they hit the water, then it becomes quiet and the boys lean in slightly to see what happened. Gillian bobs up a few seconds after Raven, hair hatted down to her forehead. She pushes it back and gently treads the water. "_God_, the water is absolutely wonderful!"

Sean is the first one to undress down to his underclothes and cannonball into the water, splashing the girls. Alex and a bashful Hank finally join into the fun and hop into the gorge. At one point, Sean even climbs the boulders to the top of the waterfall and jumps down from it, somehow bruising the small of his back and his arms.

Gillian breaks away from the group and treads the water at the other side of the gorge, ducking underneath and opening her eyes. Beacons of light radiate through the dark blue and her hair looks like a mushroom cloud under the water. She pops back up to the surface to find Alex treading water in front of her.

"Hey," he says. "Enjoying the alone time?"

"Yeah, you could say that," she answers, smiling at him. "I haven't really had time to myself since I've been here."

Alex frowns and motions to the rest of the group on the other side of the gorge. "Did you want me to leave?"

"No, no, no, it's fine," Gillian replies, waving the thought away.

He nods and smiles, jerking a thumb towards Raven. "So, uh, she cracked."

Gillian raises an eyebrow and grins. "Raven apologized?"

He nods and shrugs slightly. "Yeah, it's not like it was a big deal."

"But it was, Alex," Gillian says. The smile has evaded her face and her lips pull into a tight, grim line. "I saw how your eyes sparked and you balled your fists and your muscles tensed up."

"You are something else, Gillian," he says, laughing sarcastically. "Thinking that you know so much about me, when clearly, you don't."

"But I do," she replies, keeping her cool. "I know that you like fighting, I know that you hate multi-grain toast, I know that you liked seeing me naked in the shower room at the facility—"

"Really, Gill?" he asks, a bit frustrated now.

"I know that you were in solitary confinement—"

"Stop," Alex demands, his voice hard like rock.

"And I know that you lied to me about _why_ you were in solitary confinement!" she finishes, slightly out of breath.

He nods, a crabby, bleak look honing his features. "So now you know everything?"

"I can tell lies from the truth," she replies. "And I know that you're a liar." She brushes back her fringe, knotted and matted to her forehead. "There was no Slavic man and there was no switchblade!" Gillian shouts, somehow managing not to gain the other's scrutiny or absorption. "So why don't you tell me the fucking truth for once!"

Alex grimaces with resentment, heedfully and slowly swimming towards Gillian, forcing her to swim backwards right into the crag border of the gorge. The sound of the waterfall is calming, but the moment is too far from placid to be changed. There's the melody of crashing water and distant talking and wind blowing, but somehow there is still silence. The everlasting silence between Gillian and Alex.

"Okay," Alex says, breath hot on her already burning face. "You want to know _why_ I was in solitary confinement? You want to know _why_ I always 'distort' the truth and make it into something _completely_ different?" He puts both hands on the crag, also on either side of Gillian's throbbing head.

She shrugs. "I don't know, Alex. I pretty much just told you to tell me the truth, so I'd _like_ the truth."

He growls and pounds the rock on either side of her head. "I was in solitary because I killed someone. Okay? I killed my little brother, sent a beam hurdling straight towards our house on accident and it fucking _collapsed_ on him. Okay?" His breath catches in his throat and he chokes out a sob. "I lied because no one should have to know about what I did."

Gillian frowns and is immediately caught by guilt. "Lying isn't the only option, Alex."

There's an awkward silence full of Alex choking out sobs. "I don't know," he begins, shouldering the tears from his face. "Why you waste so much time trying to fix something so impossible." He laughs quietly and halfheartedly. "This boy is hopeless."

"Don't say that you're hopeless," Gillian says, cautiously putting her hand on his cheek. She gently runs her fingers down his face. "And you're _definitely_ not impossible.

"Only you seem to think so," he answers. "Everyone's getting tired of me."

"You have your moments, but I don't think I can ever get tired of you," Gillian giggles.

He looks at her with an eyebrow raised. "You're not drunk, are you? You're not, feeling sick or something?"

She laughs and he takes his hands off of the crag. "No, I'm perfectly sober, perfectly healthy."

Gillian's hand is still on his face and he closes his eyes as she runs her fingers over them. Alex tenderly grabs her wrist and pulls her closer, soon their chests are touching and his free hand traces the inside of her thigh beneath the dark blue of the water. Gillian doesn't really know what to do about the situation because she's never liked a guy this much before but known him for such a short time.

Alex's eyes dart from her lips to her eyes and back to her lips again. "Now, you have to tell me the truth," he says.

She nods timidly. "Of course."

"Do you want me right now?" he asks, his fingers moving to her back and gently tracing patterns on it. "Like, do you _really_ want me?"

Gillian inhales a deep breath and looks into his eyes. "Very much."

Alex grins and leans into Gillian, lightly catching her top lip between his before a light shines into both of their faces. They pull away from each other and look to the source of the light which happens to be Erik, waving a flashlight around in his hand.

"Getting a bit too kinky here for my liking," Erik says, trying to be funny, but his voice is empty and his eyes are spent.

They look to the other side of the gorge to see Charles apprehending the rest of the troupe. Gillian and Alex look at each other and swim to the crag bordering the gorge, lifting themselves up and out of the glassy water. They gather their clothes and sling a towel around themselves, slipping on their shoes and walking off behind Erik who follows Charles out of the backwoods.

The walk is teeming silence and inelegance. Sean attempts to regale everyone with quiet jokes, but gets slapped on the back of the head by Alex. Once they reach the fields, the flashlights go off but the silence remains, hung over the troupe like a blanket. Charles opens the door to the mansion and tiredly motions everyone inside.

All of the teens line up in the den, right beside the fireplace, dripping onto the wood floor and shivering beneath their towels. Erik rushes off to bed and claims that his work has been done, uneasily shifting and clambering up the stairs.

"I am thoroughly disappointed with you," Charles says after a moment, quelling the silence and placing the flashlight on the side table. "_All_ of you." He still manages a calm presence although he's angry. "Was I not clear enough for you all? How much more crystalline must I be with you? I try to be cool with you all, I don't ask too much. Must I be more uptight and dour with you?"

Everyone shakes their heads and mutters 'no'.

"The only thing that I have ever asked is for a midnight curfew. That's lenient, right?" Charles asks.

Everyone nods and mutters 'yes' this time.

"I don't even know what to say to you all." Charles slaps his forehead in frustration. "Who's idea was this?" he asks, examining the group.

Raven sighs and prepares to step forward when Gillian gently pushes her back and moves in front of everyone, hand raised. "It was my idea, Charles."

Charles shakes his head and frowns. "I don't believe this, Gillian. I simply _cannot_ believe this."

"Well," she begins, shrugging her shoulders. "Believe it."

Charles points a finger at her. "Don't be disrespectful, Gillian."

"I wasn't—" Gillian begins, but Sean lightly kicks her in the ankle and shakes his head at her. "I mean, I'm sorry."

He puts his face in his upturned palms and groans, shooing the rest of the assemblage away to their rooms, but keeping Gillian in the den with him. Everyone tramples up the staircase and lets out a relieved sigh, Raven looks back to Gillian and mouths a 'thank you' and crosses her fingers for her. Gillian nods and watches the troupe stumble up the stairs. The fireplace crackles and the wind outside is stills to a quiet whine.

"This isn't like you, Gillian, I don't understand," Charles says.

"I'm not saying this to be rude, but you've only known me for a couple days," she answers, pulling the towel tighter around her trembling frame. "You don't really know what I would and wouldn't do."

Charles grunts and paces the ingrain carpet. "Well, I see. As punishment, I would like for you to scrub the kitchen _spotless_, and take all of the trash out tomorrow."

"Okay," she says, nodding. "Fair enough. Where to?"

"There's a dump, not too far from here. I'll leave the directions on the island tomorrow morning."

There's a silence and Charles motions for her to go to bed. She trudges the steps, but stops half-way and meekly looks back at Charles. "I'm really sorry, Charles. Something like this will never happen again."

Charles nods with compassion. "Apology accepted."

She begins climbing the steps again and stops at the top, calling his name. "Hey, Charles?"

"Yes?"

"Do you still trust me?"

Charles nods and beams with a small smile. "Of course I do, Gillian," he answers.

Gillian nods and gradually starts to cry, soon the moisture on her cheeks turns into full on weeping. She runs back down the stairs and envelops him in a tight hug. Charles is slightly taken aback by the embrace and the tears, but eases into the hug and doesn't even care that she's saturating his bed clothes with her waterlogged frame.

"Why are you crying, dear?" Charles asks, holding her shoulders at arm's distance.

She wipes her eyes with the towel and looks at him. "No one has ever trusted me as much as you do. Even after all that I've done here, you _still_ trust me." she laughs. "It's more like _happy_ crying than anything else."

Charles nods and gently pushes her towards the staircase. "Go get some sleep, you need it."

She quietly agrees and clambers back up the stairs. Charles slowly lowers himself into the armchair and reclines back, there is far too much on his mind to move elsewhere.


	16. CHAPTER FIFTEEN

**Probably would've had this out yesterday, but I live in New York and got hit with Hurricane Irene and lost power for several hours. I'm back now with denial and drama!**

* * *

><p>The next morning, Gillian jogs down the stairs and into the kitchen to grab a plum from the straw-plaited basket on the island. She takes a modest bite from the gage, chews quietly, and sits down on the bar stool, leaning her elbows onto the marmoreal island. A note, a map, and carabiner on the edge of the island catch her attention. She reaches over and slaps her hand atop the items and slides them across the marble, first picking up the note and reading it.<p>

_Gillian,_

_I hope you haven't forgotten your burden this morning._

She groans loudly and takes another nibble at the plum, angrily gnashing her teeth at the note. Gillian is about the toss the folio away when she notices that impatience and irritability had stopped her from realizing that there was more to the regard to read. She adjusts her position on the bar stool and slouches on the island, putting the half-eaten plum down and licking her sticky fingers.

_I traced the directions onto the map, you'll have to excuse the only ungodly yellow pen I could find to map out the route. When you get there, find a balding man named Ed, a family friend. I left some cash beneath this note,—_

Gillian lifts up the paper and sure enough, a few crisp five dollar bills are there. She picks them up and counts out $25, quickly transferring the money to the breast pocket of her jumper and patting it down. She scoops up the plum into her palm again, gnawing off a piece of the skin.

_please use it to dump the trash and not for your needs._

She scoffs quietly and continues on with the note.

_And lastly, as you can see, I have left a carabiner also. You will need this if you are to even step foot into any of the cars in the garage. Find the keys to a corresponding car, hook them onto the carabiner, and drive yourself to the dump. Don't forget that upon your return, you must clean the kitchen._

_Charles_

Gillian crumples the paper and pitches it into the trash. She finishes her plum and throws that away too, immediately stepping down from the stool and tying off the garbage bag, lifting it out of the trash can. Gillian notices several other bags of garbage along the wall and groans. She pulls the bag in her hand toward the wall and heads down to the garage, opening the door and gawking at all of the beautiful cars.

There is a rack of keys adhered to the wall and she shuffles through them, picking a random set and attaching the key ring to the carabiner. She inspects the logo on the key and searches for a car with the same logo. The key leads her to find a Mercury Comet near the garage door, she grins and jumps in excitement.

Gillian walks back into the kitchen to find Alex, clad in nothing but a pair of striped pajama pants with his hair a mess. He turns around and smiles at her, closing the door to the fridge. "Good morning."

"Good morning," she replies, wrapping her hands around bag of garbage and lugging it along.

"Whoa, Gill." He rushes to her side and takes the bag into his own hands. "You've gotta be careful. Don't lift more than you can." She frowns and grabs a wad of plastic into her hand, dragging another bag across the floor with Alex in tow, two bags on his shoulders. "Is this your punishment? Taking out the garbage?"

She grunts and leads him to the Mercury Comet where she pops open the truck and sets in the first bag. He throws the other two in and wipes his hands on his pants. It goes on for five more minutes, heaving the rest of the bags across the porcelain and then into the trunk, all in silence.

"Thanks," she says after they finish, an apathetic smile on her face.

"No problem," Alex huffs. He scratches his head and motions to the car. "I could... go with you, if you want."

Gillian shakes her head, her reply is small and quiet. "I don't think that'd be a good idea."

"Why not?" His answer is almost immediate.

"I just need to be by myself right now," she says. "I have a lot of thinking to do."

"About what?" he asks. "The Professor? Shaw? The weather, maybe?" Alex laughs softly.

She frowns and looks away from his eyes. "About what happened last night."

He furrows his eyebrows together and takes a small step towards her. "Last night? You mean, us?"

Gillian nods and mutters "yes" although it's barely audible to him. "What happened last night shouldn't have happened. I don't think that either of us were... _thinking_."

"It was a kiss, Gillian!" he shouts, but then lowers his voice to an angry whisper. "It was a kiss. _Barely_ a kiss. And you said _yourself_ that you were _in_ your right mind, sober, healthy, all that bullshit."

She heaves a sigh. "Please, don't get loud with me."

"And you said that you wanted me and that was the _truth_. Was it not?"

"It was," she answers quietly.

"This is ridiculous," he declares.

Gillian gnaws on her lip. "I'm sorry."

She begins to walk for the car, but Alex stops her. He steps to her and takes her hands into his. "Look at me, Gill." She refuses and looks to the flagstone covering the ground. "Please, look at me, Gillian." She looks at him through atoning eyes, trying to avoid shifting her gaze back to the concrete. "I'm here, right now, telling you that I like you. Okay? I _like_ you, Gill. And you have to understand that I don't ever do this," Alex says. "You're witty, you're funny, and you're _smart_. So, so smart. And _so, so_ beautiful." He takes her chin and gently forces her to look back at him after her eyes had averted. "So, why can't you admit that you like me? I know you do."

Gillian doesn't say anything, instead, looking straight through his eyes.

Alex nods, his lips in a grim line, and drops her hands. He walks to the driver's side and opens the door, motioning for her to get in. Apprehensively, she climbs into the car. "Enjoy your fucking alone time," Alex spits, slamming the door shut and walking off.

Gillian breathes a sigh of frustration. She starts the car and pushes a button on the key ring that lifts the garage door, promptly driving off and out of the gates.

* * *

><p>Some routes on the map are the same ugly yellow as the pen marks that Charles had mapped out, so it gets confusing several times. All of the flexures and meanders in the road are tiring and with the frustration from the map directions, Gillian doesn't think about what happened with Alex at all. She takes a roundabout and ends up in the same place she started, throwing the map down in the passenger's seat and cursing.<p>

She approaches a traffic light and angrily beats the steering wheel, triggering a loud blaring from the horn. Through a rolled down window, she apologizes to the car in front of her and slouches back in the seat, waiting for a green light. The moment finally gives Gillian time to assess what happened a half an hour ago with Alex.

How could she have been so stupid? She knows that she likes him and he obviously likes her, he confessed. So why are these conflicted feelings playing her mind? She has never wanted anyone as much as she's wanted Alex, everything about his is mysterious and frightening, but at the same time, lovely.

A horn peels through the silence and she jumps. "Get a move on it!" an enraged driver shouts behind her. "I have somewhere to be!"

Gillian shouts an apology and revs off down the road, making a left turn and finally arriving at the dump. Even though she rolls up the windows, she can still smell everything around in the piles of garbage. Raw eggs, rotten banana peels, and something that smells like burnt hair.

The dirt road is bumpy and the car wobbles as it lands in huge craters and potholes. She pulls up to a makeshift parking lot and parks the car between a Studebaker and a convertible left with its top down. Gillian gets out and walks into the little office building, asking for a man named Ed.

Ed reveals himself to be the clerk and stands up from his seat. "How can I help ya?"

"I'm here for Charles Xavier, he said you're a family friend?"

"That I am!" he yips. "Haven't heard from him in a long time. How's he doing?"

"Good, he's good. He said you'd help me with my garbage."

He nods and gently places a hand on her shoulder, leading her back out to the parked car in the lot. "So, how many bags?"

Gillian pops open the trunk and counts out six bags, lifting one of them out and fastening it back. "Six."

Ed helps her with all of the bags, picking up the plastic resins as if they're nothing but air. Gillian takes the bills from the breast pocket of her jumper, handing them off to Ed and receiving a receipt in return. She watches, corralled in her huge sweater, as the trash falls into a pit and is crushed between two large metal plates.

She's in no rush to get back, even if she has to clean the kitchen. Gillian sits down in a chair in the office and watches the small TV on the desk. It's on a news channel with the president and several other politicians making an address to mutants.

"Can I turn this up?" she asks, pointing to the TV.

Ed is just sitting back in his seat, putting his hands up. "By all means."

Gillian leans over and turns the nob to the right, increasing the volume of the television. She sits up in her seat and crosses her arms over her chest, watching the president's body language intently and slightly scowling at his words.

"Is he talking about those, uh. What are they called again? Muties?" Ed asks, scribbling something down.

"_Mutants_," Gillian hisses.

He shoos her with an absentmindedly raised hand. "Whatever they are, they're a nuisance to society. Always breakin' shit and hurting people, _real_ people."

"Mutants are real people, Ed. It's only a mutation in a gene that makes them different," she answers, leaning back in her chair. "Don't you words you don't know the meaning to, Ed," she mutters under her breath.

Ed looks up, shocked. "So you're _for_ those freaks?"

She gets up quickly and walks to the door, opening it but standing in her spot. "Well, I'm surely not against them," she spits. Gillian slams the door behind her and rushes for the car, getting in and revving the engine up. She pulls onto the dirt road, then onto the frontage road and speeds off. Gillian almost cries but shakes the feeling away from her head and taking a sip of water from the bottle in the cup holder.

After a half hour and several changes of scenery, she arrives back at the mansion and parks the car in the garage. Gillian unhooks the key ring from the carabiner, hanging them up beside each other on the rack adhered to the wall.

Upon walking into the kitchen she meets Erik. "Hello," he says. "Finish taking out the trash?"

She nods angrily and walks to the cabinets, jumping up and down trying to reach them.

"Need help?" he asks from behind her.

"No," she replies, quite blunt.

Erik puts his hands up defensively and backs away. "Have it your way, Gillian."

"You know what, Erik?" she seethes, climbing up on the wood edge counter top. "I'm not in the—" Gillian struggles to stand up on the worktop, but eventually she's upstanding beneath a small column of light. "Mood—" She opens one of the cupboards and fishes out a burette of jam, but decides that she doesn't want it and puts it back on the shelf. Gillian turns around to face Erik and points at him. "You are making me even more angry than I already am, so lay off." When she wheels back around to climb down from the counter top, her foot slips and she falls.

Gillian prepares to hit the porcelain tiles, but is quickly wrenched upwards by the metal plate on her belt. She is rolled around in the air and flipped several times. Suspended still at last, she flips her head back and looks at Erik who waves slightly and smirks at her.

"Put me down, Erik," she demands, legs and arms dangling.

"As you wish," he says, releasing his hold on her.

She falls rapidly, but instead of hitting the floor, she lands in Erik's arms. She scowls at him, pointing in his face again. "If you weren't good-looking, I'd punch you right in your jaw, Erik."

He plants her on the floor and grins. "I'm _so_ grateful." Erik begins to walk out of the kitchen when Gillian calls out to him. "Yes?" he says, turning around.

"Thanks," she mutters.

Smirking, he leans over and cups a hand behind his ear. "What was that?"

"I said thank you!" Gillian shouts, her arms out. "Son of a bitch..." she mumbles, walking to find a chunk of steel wool.


	17. CHAPTER SIXTEEN

**Oh, tension? And action?**

* * *

><p>The rest of the week had been grueling to say the very least. Charles had pressed training harder and harder each day on everyone, leaving them sore, chafed, angry, weary, and at times, apathetic. In many instances, they would leave with blood on their clothes, dirt and grime on their sweat suits, and bruises pasted onto their skin. But even after all of that, no one was discouraged. Everyone knew what they had gotten themselves into upon agreeing to help the cause, punking out now was out of the question and overall, an embarrassment.<p>

Charles had taught Gillian to explode only a part of herself, a leg or an arm or a hand for example. She was especially shocked when — in a stock of luck — she was able to explode into a gaseous form and travel through the wind to another spot on the turf. From then on, Charles had helped her to detonate into that form whenever she wanted to. And when it came to the disintegration, Gillian was just as fortunate, being able to recreate whatever she dissolved.

Alex hadn't talked to her since the incident in the garage. Whenever he saw her around, he would immediately excuse himself from whatever he was doing and go to his bedroom. Gillian couldn't ever figure out a right time to approach him because just being in his presence was awkward and uncomfortable enough for her.

So, now it's the next Wednesday afternoon. Sunny, cloudless skies and warm weather.

"Gillian?" Charles calls.

She looks up from her novella, marks the page, and crawls forth on her bed until she reaches the edge. "What's up, Charles?" she asks, hand on a post at the foot of the bed.

"I have a question for you."

"Shoot," she replies, smiling.

"Hank would like to test out a flying apparatus built for Sean, and we'd like to use your room. It's the perfect spot for practice," Charles answers.

Gillian nods. "Of course, Professor!"

He grins, thanks her, and leaves the room, his footsteps can be heard getting quieter as he descends the staircase. She leans back on the pillows, opening the novella to her page and fiddling with the barbell and metal ball in her tongue. There is the murmur of a conversation in the den downstairs, rasping against the carpet, then ascension of the stairs by several pairs of feet. Hank, followed by Charles and Sean all walk into Gillian's room.

Hank barely acknowledges Gillian, but Sean sits on the edge of her bed and leans over her book. "What'cha reading?"

"Some book that you would have absolutely no interest in," she replies, closing it and flinging her legs off of the bed. "So, what is this contraption exactly?"

"It'll help him fly," Hank replies, engrossed in connecting shafts and fabric.

Gillian stands up from her spot on the bed and walks to the aperture, lifting it open and locking it in place. She sticks her head out, waves to the lot of mutants in the other room beside her, and notices the rose bush directly below. Disconcerted, she walks back inside, jutting her thumb in the direction on the opened window.

"You do realize that there is a rose bush right under my window?" she asks.

Charles nods and pats Sean on the shoulder. "All the more motivation. Right, Sean?"

Sean's eyes widen and he rushes to the opened window, whining at the rose bush. "I change my mind about this, Professor."

"Well," Hank begins, handing Sean the apparatus. "No backing out now."

After a few minutes of fastening straps and trying to lock rods into place, Sean sits on the window ledge, feet dangling outside. He looks really nervous, his fingers tremble along his sides and he runs a hand through his mangled curls. Gillian kneads the space between his shoulder blades with her elbow, trying to shake the apprehension from him.

"Gill?" Sean asks.

"Yes?"

"Do you think you could stand down by the rose bushes? I'd feel a lot more comfortable if I could have a pretty girl help me up if I fall," he answers, then gulps. "Or die."

She giggles and pats his back. "You won't die. But, of course I'll stand down there."

"Thanks, Gill. You're a good friend," he says, slinging his arm around her shoulders. "Tell Charles to write about you in my obituary."

She punches him in the arm, leaving the room shortly afterwards and clambering down the stairs. It's a lengthy walk around the manor to her window, but the breeze is gentle and her complexion is glowing from the tolerable weather. When she arrives, Hank and Charles are at the window with Sean and talking with him. Erik, Raven, and Alex are at a window in an adjacent room, waiting for him to jump. Alex eyes her and quickly looks away.

All she can hear is Charles muttering a "good luck" and patting him once more on the back.

Gillian waves at him and he timidly waves back to her. She coaxes him down from the ledge with her arms and a soft smile, giving him a thumbs up and winking.

He lifts him arms up and lets out a strangled cry before landing directly in the rose bush. Everyone in the windows burst into a spate of uncontrollable laughter, ducking back into the safety of the rooms to contain themselves before coming back to the aperture and laughing again. Gillian rushes to Sean and gently pulls him from the bushes, brushing leaves and petals from his sweater.

"Are you okay?" she asks.

He nods and rubs the nape of her neck. "I'm fine, just a little... embarrassed."

"You'll be fine," Gillian replies, quickly pulling a thorn from his cheek.

"Ouch!" Sean smacks her hand away and rubs his cheek. "That hurt!"

"Well, it's not supposed to feel _good_!"

Sean turns to the aperture and looks at Hank, throwing his arms up above him. "I thought it was supposed to work!"

Hank shrugs and stifles a laugh. "I guess we just need a bigger drop to gain more of your impetus!"

Sean's mouth is gaping and he mutters several profanities underneath his breath, pulling out three more thorns from his hair and face. Before Sean can ask him what the rest of his explanation means, Gillian puts a hand on his shoulder and whispers "momentum" in his ear. Sean groans and walks off to the front of the manor, moping and whining along the way. Gillian shrugs to Charles and follows after him.

* * *

><p>"Hand-to-hand what?" Raven asks.<p>

"Combat," Charles answers.

Everyone is following Charles down the corridor, adorned in active wear, confusion clouding their minds. He leads them all into a room on one of the lower levels that no one has ever seen, or been to, before. It's a nice vastness with plush carpeting and tall casement window. Moira is waiting for everyone with a smile and several sets of fingerless gloves.

Gillian takes a matching pair from Moira and slides them onto her hands. After everyone is set with their gauntlets, Charles claps his hands together and stands in front of the lot with a flourishing grin plastered on his face.

"To keep a very long, taxing story short: I have asked Moira here today to instruct us all on hand-to-hand combat," Charles begins, pacing around the troupe. Everyone is distracted by the rampant winds outside. "Pop quiz—"

There is a collective groan throughout the assemblage.

"If you are rendered to the point where your mutation doesn't function or 'behave' correctly, what should you do?" He scans the lot and points to Sean, grinning. "Sean?"

Sean looks up from picking lint off of his shirt. "Uh, try harder with your power?"

"Wrong. Raven?"

"Run away?"

"No," he says, slapping his forehead. "Gillian?"

She thinks for a moment, taps her chin, then beams with a thought. "Cower and beg for mercy."

Charles groans, turns around to face the wall, and, ofttimes, slams his head against it. He points in Alex's direction, his head still in respect of the wall. "Alex, please, _please_ have the correct answer and save me the hindrance of throwing myself off of the manor."

"Well, it's obvious," Alex says, looking at everyone else. "You fight." He looks at his palms. "With your hands."

"Ding! Ding! Ding!" Charles yips, clapping his hands together. "Thank you! Moira, I'll leave this to you now."

Moira nods and explains the artistry of hand-to-hand combat for a few minutes. A moiety of the troupe loses her half way through and watches the birds outside flying around in circles and landing on tree branches. Some of them fly into the backwoods and are lost in the mass of dark green, sometimes coming back out to land on the grass or the window sills.

"So," Moira's voice rings. "I need two volunteers for a practice fight. Anyone?"

No one says anything at first, but Alex's raises his hand and walks over to stand beside Moira. "I'll do it."

"Great!" She pats him on the shoulder. "Anyone else?"

It's quiet again until Gillian raises her hand and an eyebrow, slightly smirking. "I'm in."

Alex's face drops and he shakes his head. "No, no, no!"

"What's the problem, Alex?" Charles asks.

"The problem?" he says mockingly. "The problem is that I'm not fighting a girl!"

Gillian frowns, tying up her hair tight into a slapdash bun and putting the hood of her sweater over her head. "Would it be better if I looked like this?" she jeers, crossing her arms over her chest.

"This isn't funny," Alex seethes. "I'm not fighting her!"

"When it comes to it," Moira begins. "It won't matter if your opponent is a girl or a boy, you're fighting for your _life_ out there." She takes a step back and presses them on with her hands. "So, have at it."

"I told you that I'm not—"

Alex is silenced by a sharp right hook to the jaw, it's not enough to discolor his skin, but it's enough to make him stumble backwards. There is a cumulative gasp throughout the room and then a moment of stiffening silence. Raven's hands are over her mouth in shock and she accidently backs up into Erik's chest. Alex holds his jaw and rubs it, his lips slightly parted in surprise. Gillian's hands are balled into fists and she holds them in front of her at a safe distance like Moira taught her.

"You left yourself open," Gillian says, slightly bouncing on her toes. "Moira said to never leave yourself open like that."

Moira smiles, knowing that her work is actually benefiting. "Good job, Gillian," Moira whispers, patting her shoulder.

"You punched me!" Alex shouts. "You fucking punched me!"

"I told you that you left yourself open," she says. Gillian puts her hands to her sides for a moment and slowly steps toward him. "Forget about human anatomy for minute. Forget that I'm a girl and just—"

She's punched in the face by Alex and lands on the ground, nose bleeding and head throbbing. Blood dribbles down her face in streams, pouring into her mouth and choking her. She spits froth and blood out onto the floor and turns her body to face Alex, smiling through bloody teeth.

"That's more like it," Gillian says. She gets up quickly and sends a reeling leg towards his head which he quickly catches in his hand and twists. She cries out quietly and twists herself around to the he's still holding her leg, but she's got both palms to the floor and, with all of her strength, flips him towards the wall. He tumbles across the floor and slams into the barricade. "Getting tired yet?"

"Not even a little," he replies, standing up and charging her. That moment is filled with quick jabs that are either blocked or dodged. Gillian kneels on the ground and dishes out a sweeping kick that sends Alex to the ground on his back. She quickly climbs onto his chest and sits down, pinning his arms above his head.

"I win," she says, out of breath.

He rolls out from beneath her and manages to get her onto her back, sitting on her stomach and binding her wrists in one hand, using the other to wipe the sweat from his brow.

"No," he replies. "I win. Don't leave yourself open."

Everyone starts clapping but Alex and Gillian can only see each other. Moira and Charles help them both up and pat them on the back.

"Wonderful for your first time!" Moira says.

"I think that you should both get cleaned up," Charles says. "Everyone else, pair up."


	18. CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

**My loyal readers and reviewers deserve this chapter! Haha!**

* * *

><p>Gillian steps into the shower stall and lets the water run over her bruising, beaten body. She spends twenty minutes dousing her long locks, scrubbing blood from her skin, and cringing under the sting of several cuts on her flesh. When she finally gets out, the bathroom is full of steam, making it difficult to see and breathe. She towels off and pulls on a pair of cotton capris with a crisp white v-neck, straightening her damp curls with a hairdryer she found beneath the sink.<p>

She plaits her hair over her shoulder in a slipshod french braid, long strands frame her face and shorter strands tickle the back of her neck. Feeling satisfied, Gillian looks into the pier glass mirror, cocking her head and examining the discoloration along her arms and face. She winces, running a delicate finger over a tiny bruise on her throat where Alex's fist had barely made contact.

After hanging up the bath towel and rinsing the shower clean of her blood, she leaves the bathroom. On her way to the bedroom, Gillian stumbles, and collapses in pain, clutching her stomach and supporting herself using the wall. Alex can hear a crash and immediately hops out of the shower at the other end of the hall, ties a towel around his waist, and darts down the corridor to find Gillian whimpering on the ground.

"My _God_, Gill!" Alex shouts. He lifts her up, allowing her to lay her weight onto him. "My room is closer," he says, turning into his bedroom and laying her down on his unmade bed and propping pillows up for her to lay on. "I'll be right back." Alex runs from the room and comes back several minutes later with a tee shirt and sweatpants on. His hair is dripping wet and he runs a hand through it. "What happened?"

"I think it's from that kick in the stomach that you gave me," she whimpers. "I don't understand why I'm just feeling it now."

He slaps himself on the forehead. "I knew that was a bad idea! Fighting you was a _bad_ idea."

"I can take it," Gillian replies, smiling slightly. She rolls over onto her side to face him, trying to laugh, but instead, coughing out a small bout of blood.

He shrieks quietly and pulls the garbage can to the side of the bed. Alex takes a seat at the edge of the bed next to her, holding her braid out of the line of blood dribbling from her mouth. Alex gently pats her back, soothing the rest of the blood from her. "Are you sure you're alright?"

She nods and spits the blood from her mouth, cleaning her teeth off with her tongue. "I'm okay, I'm okay. I've just never fought anyone like that." Gillian laughs slightly and runs a finger down her face. "It fucking hurts."

"I'm really sorry. I told you I didn't want to fight you, but then you punched me—"

"You finally got to punch me, though," she chuckles halfheartedly. "You must be happy about that. Even _though_ you said I had a beautiful face."

He, in turn, breaks into a torrent of gentle laughter. "I remember that," he says.

It feels like it's been an hour in reticence, when in reality, it's only been a few seconds. Gillian slings her legs off of the bed and gets up slowly, frowning slightly at the silence. "Thanks for everything, but I need to leave," she says, almost at the door when Alex grabs onto her wrist and turns her around. "What is it, Alex?"

"We need to talk."

"_I_ don't have to do anything," she replies spitefully. "Please let me go." But he doesn't let go, only loosens his grip on her skin a little bit. "Alex, let me go." Gillian tries to shake his hand off and when she resorts to prying at his fingers with her other hand, he pulls her closer to him. She manages to slink out of his grasp after some struggle, but he grabs her again and pushes her against the wall. Alex uses his body mass and his arms on either of her head to keep Gillian from running away. "Please, just let me go!" she sobs, tears falling down her face.

"Why are you crying?" Alex asks, wanting to be angry with her, but his voice is sincere.

She throws her arms down in frustration. "Because you remind me of him!" Alex looks confused, Gillian sighs but doesn't stop crying. "The one who hit me!"

He grinds his teeth together in contemplation, looking down at the carpet. "Something tells me that there is more to that story then you let on."

"Because there is," she replies, ashamed under his gaze.

"Tell me."

Gillian throws her head back against the wall and blinks away most of the tears. "Okay! So the story didn't exactly go like I said it did, although I wish I couldn't been strong enough to kick him out the first time." She shakes her head and using the pads of her thumbs, wipes the moisture from her cheeks. "He hit me several times over the span of our year together. Sometimes he resorted to using whatever was laying around. That could mean getting backhanded one day, hit with a saucer pan the next day, and maybe my astronomy textbooks the day after that."

Alex is angry, raging with animosity and the heaviness of his heart. How could someone hurt her like that? On purpose? She is such a beautiful, lively girl and anyone would be lucky to have her and hold her and love her. He just can't grasp her story, it's not tangible, it doesn't quite lie within his reach.

"And I remind you of him?" he asks, now looking down again. "I never laid a hand on you with the exception of today, and that was only combat training."

"The _need_, Alex. The need."

"What _need_?"

"I don't know," she replies, trembling hands on her head. "For acceptance, approval, the _green light_. And you always need an answer, if it doesn't fit your ideals, then it's wrong. Every answer that I give you is wrong!"

"Do you think I'm gonna hit you like he did? If you don't have the right answer, I'll backhand you?" he asks, his voice raised.

She shakes her head. "But you hate me for it! You ignore me every time I walk into a room, I don't _exist_ anymore."

"How else should I act, Gillian?" He is screaming now, venomously gripping her cheeks and turning her head to face him. He realizes that his anger is getting the better of him and drops his hands apologetically, taking a step back from her.

She shrugs her shoulders ever so slightly, her lips parted in an attempt to still her breathing. The tempestuous winds outside beat the panelled windows, shaking them in their sills. They don't look at each other for moment because of the silence, it's like a blanket of inelegance just cloaking the entire house. Downstairs, there is still the sound of scuffling and crashing from the combat training.

"What am I supposed to do? You said that you don't like me," Alex finally says, breaking the everlasting silence.

Gillian holds up a finger and takes a step toward him. "I never said _anything_."

"You didn't have to. I interpreted your silence as 'the feeling is not mutual'."

"Well, you misinterpreted," she replies. "I like you, a lot. But I haven't tried dating since _him_, so I tried to make myself believe that I didn't like you to avoid all of this. I can't handle _this_ again." Gillian motions to herself, then to Alex.

He backs her into the wall again, tenderly putting his hands on her face and putting his forehead against hers. Gillian puts her hands on his arms, gently trying to drive him away, but he holds on. "Don't fight me," he whispers. Alex leans in and kisses her lips lightly, caressing her cheeks with the pads of his thumbs. She falls into it and nibbles on his bottom lip, tears still rolling down her face. Alex pecks the helix of her ear and hovers his mouth near it. "Be with me, Gill." He moves his face away and looks into her eyes. "Please."

She nods.

They quickly let go of each other as Raven peeks into his room. "Hey, Alex, have you seen Gill—" Gillian runs a hand over the braid and nervously lays it over her shoulder. "Oh, hi."

Gillian waves slightly. "Hi, Raven."

Raven eyes the two from the door and points to Gillian. "Meet me in my room tonight. I want to paint my nails."

"Sounds good."

Raven gives them both one more skeptical look before she exits the room and shuffles on down the corridor. Alex turns to face Gillian again and awkwardly scratches the nape of his neck. "I guess, I should let you go now."

"I guess so." She side-steps and begins to leave until Alex grabs her forearm, spins her around, and kisses her intensely on the mouth.

"I'm sorry," he says, still holding her face. "I just can't stop doing that." Alex laughs subtly and Gillian starts to laugh too.

She pecks him on the lips. "It's alright. I like it."

* * *

><p>Raven sets out 5 different nail polishes for Gillian to choose from, she immediately opts for sapphire because it has flecks of silver in it that shimmer majestically in the light. Raven selects coral and puts the others back into a plastic bag and seals it back tight, slipping it into the top drawer of her vanity dresser.<p>

"Can I light this candle on your side table, Raven?" Gillian asks, taking the candle from its chamberstick and rotating it in her hands.

After she gets the nod of compliance, she runs to her room to grab a box of matches, quickly coming back to Raven's room and flopping down on the duvet. Raven turns off the recessed light and sits down beside Gillian, stretching her legs out in front of her. Gillian strikes the match across the box and hold it away from her, lighting the wick and placing the pillar candle back into the chamberstick. There it sits in situ as it emanates a lavender scent from its spot on the side table, somehow calming in a way.

They begin to paint their toe nails first, scooting to the edge of the bed for the candlelight. The wind outside has stilled, so for the most part, it's quiet in Raven's room except for the strange sounds coming from downstairs.

"That color looks awesome with your complexion, Raven," Gillian says, breaking the silence.

"Thanks," Raven replies, motioning to Gillian's feet. "I like that sapphire on your nails."

Gillian nods and the awkward silence returns. Both girls finish their toe nails and eventually their fingernails too, fanning and blowing the nail polish dry. Raven pulls out a couple magazines from beneath her bed, pushing the duvet aside and tossing them into Gillian's lap. She takes a Forbes magazine and throws the rest into Raven's lap, who is currently laughing at Gillian.

"What?" Gillian asks.

"Why Forbes?" Raven shuffles through the stack and holds up two fashion magazines. "Why not this one? Or this one?"

Gillian shrugs and flips through the pages of Forbes. "I like to read about all of the people richer than me," she answers. "While outwardly _envying_ them."

Raven giggles and leans over the magazine, pointing to a goateed man posing in front of a glass huge turret. "Look at him!"

Gillian scans the page for information on the man, beaming when she finds it. "Says he makes 15 million a year."

Raven flips open her own magazine and begins searching through it, resenting all of the beautiful women and all of the in vogue styles. She looks at an engrossed Gillian, patting her french braid and toying with it over her shoulder, twirling long strands of hair around her fingers. Gillian yawns sharply and reclines back onto Raven's pillows, crossing her legs in Raven's lap.

After catching Raven's reaming gaze, Gillian closes the magazine and throws it down beside her, looking to Raven. "Okay! Okay! I'll spill!"

Gaily brimming with excitement, Raven tosses her magazine somewhere and turns to face Gillian, feet still in her lap. "I knew you'd give in! Spill!"

"We kissed."

"You kissed?" Raven shrieks.

Gillian quickly jumps up to cover her mouth, immobilizing Raven by sitting on her and tethering her wrists together in one hand. But Raven just keeps shrieking and bucking away from her, regardless of being muzzled by one of Gillian's palms. Now her words just sound like balderdash and nonsensical blubbering beneath Gillian's hand.

"Yes! We kissed!" Gillian whispers firmly. "But you can't scream it out like that! I'll let you go if you promise to be quiet. Deal?"

Raven nods frantically and Gillian slowly takes her hand off of Raven's mouth, moving away from her and back to the pillows. Raven is still stunned, her crooked smile left in some kind of limbo. "Was it wonderful?"

Gillian laughs slightly. "Of course it was."

Face adorned with a grin, Raven winks at Gillian and is suddenly engulfed within a crest of blue. It's a quick transformation, and soon enough, she has taken the form of Gillian, smile still plastered on her face. "My name is Gillian," she says, her voice emulates that of Gillian's perfectly. "And I love Alexander Summers."

Gillian's mouth hangs agape, but she can find the humor in the situation and bursts into a spate of laughter. "You—" Gillian chokes on a laugh. "Bitch."

Raven, still mirroring Gillian, gets up from her spot on the bed and walks out of the room into the corridor. "My name is Gillian and I love Alexander Summers!" Gillian quickly bolts up and runs out of the door to grab her. "My name is Gillian and I—" Gillian clamps a hand over her mouth and wrestles her to the floor, but Raven manages to escape. She trips Raven, who falls flat on her face onto the carpet. Gillian grabs her around the ankles and begins to hale her back to her room. "Love Ale—"

"Blah! Blah! Blah! Blah!" Gillian shouts over Raven's screaming, trying to cover up her utterance. "Don't mind me! Just taking myself back into Raven's room!"

"My name is Gillian and—"

Gillian slams the door shut just as Raven's hands make it into the door.


	19. CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

**Okay, so I have a couple things to say. First of all, I apologize because this chapter is a little lusterless and short and all over the place. But the next chapter will be the scene in Cuba, so that chapter will be a lot longer than this one (hopefully). Secondly, I think after next chapter, I'll write an epilogue and that'll be the end of the story. Thirdly, enjoy, I guess, haha.**

* * *

><p>The next day, combat training is even more strenuous than the day before when Alex had completely made a hash of Gillian. Erik challenges her and there is no way she can back down from it, but she wishes that she would have because she received far more bruises today than any other day in her entire life. There are a few blows exchanged between the two, Gillian is pulled into a vice grip but quickly kicks Erik in the shin and is released. At one point, he gives her some kind of death blow to the face that stuns, benumbs, then knocks her completely unconscious.<p>

She drops to her knees first, hands at her sides, then falls onto the floor. Gillian lay sprawled across the needlefelt carpet on her stomach, bleeding from her nose and the corners of her lips. Everyone rushes to her aid, all of the movement coming from around gradually wakes her up from her comatose state. Gillian looks around, trying to meet everyone's eyes at once, but fails and leans her head back on the carpet, looking up at the ceiling.

On the count of a quiet three, Hank and Sean hoist Gillian up into their arms and begin carrying her out of the room. She can't focus on anyone and for a moment, is temporarily blinded by the pain in her face. When her vision returns, they are almost out of the door and into the corridor, Gillian stops them by painfully raising a hand to touch Hank's arm.

Every movement that she makes hurts her, but she points a finger at Erik anyway. "You're fucking _dead_, Erik," she croaks, her voice low.

Charles quickly orders Hank and Sean to take her to the den where they can watch over her. They do as told and manage to squeeze through the doorway by turning sideways while Gillian continues baying obscenities at Erik.

"Fucking magnetic bastard," Gillian says, trying to shout, but whispers.

They manage to get her to the den and lay her across the ottoman. Sean pulls the recliner to the head of the couch and tries to keep her awake by talking to her, but by the time Hank comes back from the kitchen with a bottled water and a damp cloth, she's unconscious again.

* * *

><p>For the next two days, Gillian painfully bobs in and out of consciousness, only waking for moments at a time. Charles insists that she be moved to the lab, which has been partitioned as an infirmary for her. She lay across a cold slate of metal with a pillow propped beneath her head for the sake of comfort. Gillian is visited by everyone, mostly Hank though, since he is always in the lab when he's not training.<p>

Raven frequents the lab most, reading magazines to her, plaiting her hair, and repainting her nails to emerald. "You should at least be trendy while unconscious," she would say. Sometimes even having conversations with Hank about her status and the 'cure' he contrived.

Alex comes down every couple hours, but won't do anything but hold her hand and watch her. One time during the day, he did mumble something that Hank managed not to catch. He doesn't come down as often as Raven because he can't stand to see Gillian in this state, so stagnant and pale.

Sean comes down once in a while to talk about how the day went without her, but leaves after proving that he can't stand the silence of the lab. Charles visits when he can just to check up on her and pat her head. While Erik, on the other hand, manages to avoid everyone complete after what happened during combat training.

It's Friday night when Gillian wakes up. Her eyes flutter open and go everywhere and anywhere at once, but the lab is completely dark and empty. She sits up slowly, fearing whiplash or further damage to her body. Gillian rubs down the goosebumps on her arms, but notices that electrodes are stuck all over her, arms, legs, temples. She rips them all off and groans, rubbing the nape of her neck.

She swings her legs over the slate of metal and hops off, feeling through the dark for a door or a light switch. Gillian feels out something and pushes, lighting up the elevator button and heaving a sigh of relief. When the doors clink open, she steps in and is finally granted a column of light. Gillian pushes a button for the first floor and the doors close shortly behind her.

The doors open to the den and she walks out of the elevator, immediately heading for the kitchen to grab an apple. When she finishes, she quietly trudges the stairs into her room to scoop up a load of clean clothes into her arms. Gillian passes everyone's closed bedroom door, and goes into the bathroom for a shower.

It feels nice to have the cold water wake her slightly, she can even feel her headache going away. When she finishes in the bathroom, she hangs up the towel and runs her fingers over the discoloration all over her body.

Gillian frowns and opens the door to a sleepy Sean who shrieks slightly upon realization that she's awake. He pulls her into a tight embrace and swings her around.

"You're awake! You're awake!" he screams.

She slaps him on his arms and he lets go of her. "Stop! Stop it!"

Sean bolts down the hall and bangs on all of the teenager's doors, starting with Hank's and finishing with Alex's. "She's awake! Gill's awake! Gill's awake!" he shouts as he runs back to meet her at the end of the corridor. "Charles! Charles! Gill's awake!" Sean calls down the stairs. "She's awake! She's awake!"

Gillian clamps a hand over his mouth and silences him. "Stop _fucking_ screaming."

There is an array of heads peeking out of their doors, it takes them a while to realize what's going on. Raven is the first to fully grasp the situation and bolts down the corridor to pull Gillian into a hug. "You're awake! My _God_, I was a miserable girl without you."

Raven passes Gillian over to Alex with a slightly shove, who hugs her gently and places a kiss on her forehead that no one but Raven can see in the darkness. Raven smiles and bounces lightly on her toes. Alex whispers all of these things to Gillian, but she can only hear one out of all of them:

"I missed you."

Hank rubs his eyes and for the first time, Gillian is seeing him without his glasses on. He smiles gracelessly at her.

Charles scrambles up the stairs, hair a mess and standing on end. "She's awake?" he asks, eyes landing on Gillian. Charles walks to her, turning on the light in the corridor on his way over to the small troupe of teenagers. He takes her head in his hands and examines her face, lightly touching patches of skin and asking if it hurts. After he gives her a once-over, he smiles and kisses the top of her head. "You were missed, dear."

"How long was I out?" she asks, out of Charles grasp and looking at everyone.

"Two days!" Sean yips. "Two _whole _days! We missed you!"

"I see that!" Gillian quickly turns back to Charles. "Now, where's Erik? I need to kick his ass."

Charles catches her by the shoulders before she can go anywhere, holding her at arms length in front of him. "I already gave voice to the matter while you were unconscious. Erik claims it was an accident and apologized and I believe that. You of all people should know that he gets absorbed in the moment."

Gillian frowns. "I guess you're right." She crosses her arms over her chest. "I would like an apology, though."

"I'm sure you'll get one."

"I'd better."

* * *

><p>Gillian holds onto Raven's trembling hand and gently rubs her back to calm her. They're on the davenport sitting next to each other while everyone else is either seated on a sofa or standing with their hands on the divan. It's tense in the room as the president steps into the line of the camera's view, black and white and grey on the television screen.<p>

Alex places a hand on Gillian's shoulder and she looks up him, an apathetic smile playing on her lips. He gently kneads the crook of her neck, moving his hand to the nape, then to a spot a few inches below the top of her spine. She puts her hand on his to stop him before she starts to really enjoy his touch.

President Kennedy clears his throat and stares directly into the camera. The moment that everyone is waiting for has finally arrived, and no one wants to admit that they aren't prepared for it.

"It shall be the policy of this nation to regard any nuclear missile crossing the embargo line surrounding Cuba as an attack by the Soviet Union on the United States," he says, his voice stern and solid. "A full response will be required."

Erik leans forward in the recliner and points at the tiny, buzzing television screen. "That is where we'll find Shaw," Erik says.

"How do you know that?"

Gillian is too far drawn into President Kennedy to figure out who asked the question.

"Two of the world's superpowers facing off and Shaw wants to start World War Three," Charles replies, shaking his head in disbelief. "He wouldn't dare leave a thing to chance."

Erik gets up from his chair and runs a hand through his mane. "I guess discretion and diplomacy mean nothing anymore," he says. "We've got a big day tomorrow, rest up." The lot on the couches stand up to stretch and go their separate ways. Erik quickly stops Gillian with a calloused hand on her shoulder, turning her around to face him. "I apologize for hurting you, Gillian. I was just—"

"Absorbed, caught up in the moment," she answers. "I understand, Erik. I forgive you." Much to Erik's surprise, she embraces him around the waist. Smiling crookedly, he wraps his arms around her and pats her back, letting her go soon after.

Gillian smiles at him and walks over to Raven, slinging an arm around her shoulders as she pulls her in close and hugs her. "Everything will turn out fine, don't worry," Gillian says, holding her back at arm's length to observe her miserable face. "Don't worry, Rave." She shakes her playfully and gets a laugh or two out of her.

"I guess you're right," Raven replies.

Gillian puts an arm around her shoulder again and ruffles Raven's blonde hair. "Of course, I'm always right."


	20. CHAPTER NINETEEN

**I thought this would be the chapter with the scene in Cuba, but I just had too many ideas that I wanted to push into this chapter. But the _next_ chapter will most definitely be in Cuba. For now, enjoy more nothingness in a chapter.**

* * *

><p>Gillian wakes up to the sound of metallic crashing and glass shattering. At first, she assumes that it's just her dreams caught in some state of uncertainty, hanging between open eyes and exhaustion. But the sounds get louder and she realizes that something must be going on downstairs. Another crash, then something that sounds like leonine growling forces her fully awake and aware of the situation.<p>

Groaning, she rolls around in bed, glancing out the window and noticing that it's only midnight, or relatively close to it. The stars are still out and the moon is bright in the night sky, roughly illuminating the blackness. She rips off the duvet and climbs out of bed, closing the window and locking it with the small latch on top. She pulls the door open and searches the corridor for anyone else who might've noticed the sounds also, but it's empty.

She slithers out of her room, tiptoeing down the stairs with one hand on the banister to steady herself. It feels like she has been walking for hours before she reaches Hank's second, smaller lab where he keeps his excess equipment. There is more growling and shattering of glass from the other side of the door.

Gently, Gillian rasps the door with her knuckles. "Hank?" she calls quietly. "It's Gill. Are you alright?"

There is silence from the other side of the door before someone clears their throat and shuffles away from the door. "Everything is fine, Gill."

"Are you sure?" she asks. "I heard a lot of smashing from upstairs."

Gillian cups her hand behind her ear, putting her face to the door fast enough to hear Hank mutter an obscenity. "You heard me upstairs?" More shattering of glass and more muttered curses.

She reaches for the doorknob and grabs it, trying to open the door, but it is locked. "Hank? What the hell is going on? Hank!" Gillian keeps trying for the knob, but it remains locked.

"I'm fine! Just stop!" Hank shouts, a slight rumble in his voice.

Gillian pouts and pushing back the gnarled mess of hair atop her head. "Okay," she answers. "But if you're fine, come to the door and tell me."

There's a grumble and some scuffling before Hank seemingly reaches the door. "I'm fine," he mutters through the door.

"No," Gillian says. "_Open_ the door and tell me that you're fine."

"Gillian.."

"I'm not leaving until you do," she answers defiantly, crossing her arms over her chest. For a moment, she leans down to rubs the goosebumps from her exposed legs. It's cold in the manor and wearing shorts isn't comfortable unless you're wrapped in two tons of blankets.

The door cracks open just a bit and Hank manages to make himself unseen through the gap. "I'm fine. Perfectly fine," he says, his voice hoarse.

"Okay," she says, now content.

"Just..." he sighs and his utterance hangs for a moment in the air. "Go back to sleep. I'll see you in the morning."

Gillian nods and begins to walk off, but turns back. "Please, get some sleep, Hank. You need it."

* * *

><p>The next morning Gillian wakes up tangled in her sheets and after some struggle, manages to get free of her restraints. She goes to the shower that morning and after she finishes, pulls on a pair of riveted jeans, a camisole, and a paper-thin cardigan. She ties her hair up into a ponytail with curly strands hanging down into her face that she brushes aside.<p>

When she gets downstairs to have breakfast, she finds only Alex and Raven arguing over the marmoreal island. Neither of them raise their voice above their unvarying tone, but the dispute looks like it might get very heated if she doesn't step in the middle of it.

"Stop," Gillian groans, stepping into the kitchen. "It's too early for this." She grabs a juice box from the fridge and stabs her straw the the aluminum.

Raven looks at the clock and raises an eyebrow. "It's half past noon."

Gillian spits out her apple juice and wipes her mouth. "I slept until noon? And no one woke me up?"

Alex shrugs his shoulders and walks over to her, half-eaten gage hanging between his thumb and index finger. "I was going to. I came into your room to wake you up, but you looked so peaceful sleeping."

She smiles and lightly pecks him on the lips. "Well, thank you."

"Aw!" Raven coos. "So cute!"

Gillian shakes her head and sits down on one of the bar stools, Alex following suit and taking a seat beside her. She can't believe that it has taken her so long to realize that Raven is in her natural, blue form. Intricate, labyrinthine-like designs all over her body that Gillian can't help but admire with starry eyes and a straw hanging from her lips.

"Gill? Why are you staring at me?" Raven asks, pulling her sweater tighter around her form.

She shakes her head clear and puts her juice box down on the island. "I'm sorry. You are just so beautiful in your natural form."

"You really think so?" Raven asks, beaming with a bright smile.

"Yes," Gillian answers. "You're so beautiful, Raven. I can't take my eyes off of you," she says sarcastically. "Marry me, please?"

Raven puts a hand to her heart and swoons sardonically. "Of course I will, Gillian!"

"Hey!" Alex bellows, mouth full of plum and jutting a thumb toward himself.

"Yes, you're invited," Raven answers.

There is a string of waggish laughter shared between the three teens before they are quieted by the arrival of Sean and Charles. Charles looks well-rested and ready to take on the day. But, Sean on the other hand, looks completely bleary with his eyes spent and empty.

"Didn't get a good night's sleep?" Alex asks.

"No," Sean answers. He goes to the fridge and pulls out something wrapped into aluminum foil. "I'm exhausted."

"Has anyone seen Hank?" Charles asks. "I've been looking for him forever."

Gillian swallows her mouthful of apple juice and points in the direction on Hank's lab. "I talked to him last night. Haven't seen him since."

Everyone follows Charles to Hank's lab, picking up Erik somewhere along the line. He opens the unlocked door to a questionable scene that leaves everyone's mouth gaping. There are fragmented pieces of glass covering the ground, broken beakers and vials littering the floor, and overturned chairs with broken legs. Everyone walks inside, still speechless with the backdrop of the lab.

"Unbelievable," Erik mutters.

"This is what was going on," Gillian says absentmindedly. "I came down last night because I heard crashing, but he told me everything was fine." She slaps her hand to her forehead. "My _God_." She kneels down to a tuft of blue hair and picks it up to examine it.

"Hey! Over here!" Raven calls from the other side of the lab, waving her arms through the air. "He left something for us."

They all shuffle through the broken glass, avoiding the shards that strews the floor. Erik lifts Gillian over a cluster of fragmented, sharp metal because she has no shoes on. Everyone makes it over to a large box with an X on top of it. Charles lifts the lapels open on the box and smiles at the contents.

"I _refuse_ to wear that!" Sean hollers.

Charles looks over the note between his fingers. "Well, your mutations cannot endure and subsist through extreme g-force or bullets. So, I suggest you wear these." Charles hands out the suits to everyone.

Gillian holds it to her frame and fingers the fabric. "I don't know why you're whining, Sean." She slightly sways with the suit as if it's a dress and she's a Latin dancer doing the samba. "They're not horrible."

* * *

><p>Gillian and Raven struggle with the zipper at the front of their suits, trying to help each other but to no avail. Gillian is forced to strip halfway out of the suit to remove her brassiere, then slip her arms back into the ensemble and zip it up as far as she can. The coil zipper only goes so far and reveals too much cleavage to be comfortable with.<p>

"I change my mind," Gillian says, examining herself in the pier glass mirror. "They _are_ horrible."

Raven groans in agreement and slides into the view of the mirror beside Gillian. "I agree. Hank _obviously_ forgot to take boobs into account."

Upon arriving at the airbase hanger, Gillian examines the differences in everyone's suit. She doesn't have gloves because she would disintegrate them and hers is tighter to aid detonation into her gaseous form. Sean has his wings and Alex has the circular panel in the front of his suit.

Alex looks down at Gillian and smirks. "You look good."

She hits his arm. "Stop it," she says, smiling.

After some conversation, Raven looks around attentively. "Where's Hank?"

"I'm right here," he calls from across the hanger. There are thudding footsteps and suddenly a leonine form walks into view, it's Hank, large and covered in a crest of thick blue fur. Gillian recalls the tuft of blue fur she picked up in his lab and sighs, averting her eyes slightly. "It didn't _attack_ the cells," he says to no one in particular. "It enhanced them. I didn't work."

"But it did, Hank!" Raven yips, holding the side of his face in her cupped hand. "Can't you see it? _This_ is who you were meant to be." She strokes the side of his face tenderly. "This is _you_, Hank. No more hiding."

Erik smiles and nods his head. "I don't think you've ever looked better."

Hank lashes out and grabs Erik by the throat, tautening his grip around his neck. He slowly brings him down onto his knees and Erik's flailing hands try to pry Hank's furry fingers away from his skin. Raven and Gillian quickly jump back in surprise, hands clamped over their gaping mouths.

"Don't mock me!" Hank shouts, something animalistic about his voice.

"Hank! Please put him down! Immediately!" Charles says, almost afraid.

Hank's grip around Erik's throat loosens until Erik falls out of his grasp and is left gasping on the ground, palms to the floor. Erik puts his hands to his neck and massages the flesh there. "I wasn't," Erik says, his voice froggy and hoarse.

"Even I have to admit," Alex begins, giving Hank a once-over. "You look pretty badass. I think I have a new name for you: Beast."

Gillian elbows Alex lightly in the gut, glaring at him. Hank snarls slightly but doesn't say a word in response.

"Are you sure that you can fly this thing?" Sean asks, analyzing the air craft.

"Of course I can, I designed it," Hank answers, pride in his voice.


	21. CHAPTER TWENTY

**So, I would've had this out yesterday, but school started and I was busy. I actually avoided my physics work today so that I could finish writing this chapter, you should all be happy. Haha! There will be an epilogue following this, and I decided that I wanted to write a one-shot following the story, so we don't have to say goodbye yet! Also, guess who has preordered X-Men: First Class on DVD? This girl! :D I'm so excited! But anyway, enjoy the action!**

* * *

><p>"Oh my God," Gillian mutters, clenching the oxhide of her seat with a balled fist.<p>

After a bout of confrontation and harsh handling, the boys had managed to get Gillian onto Hank's jet. It came at the cost of Charles receiving an accidental kick in the groin and Sean getting an unforeseen punch to the face, resulting in a lip teeming with blood. Erik used all of his poundage to force her into a seat between himself and Alex, grabbing and throwing her back down into the seat when she sprung free. Alex mumbled apologizes the entire time he was ordered to hold her down so that Erik could stretch the five-point harness over her frame and strap her in tight. The plane took off quickly so that Gillian could not free herself from her restraints.

Now, with the jet making haste, peeling through the clouds and the sky, Gillian visibly trembles in her skintight suit. Her eyes dart all around the interior of the plane, but she's too frightened to even think about anything else besides the jet crashing into the rippling waves many feet below.

"I'm gonna be sick," she says, holding her achromic knuckles to her mouth. "I'm gonna throw up."

Alex puts a hand on her back, gently massaging away the drive to regurgitate. After a few minutes he tucks his hands back into his lap and nervously watches her as she leans back against the seat. There is a terrible spell of turbulence and Gillian shoots forward and hooks her hands onto the cincture, firmly holding onto it.

"Oh my God! Oh my God!" Gillian shouts, tightly closing her eyes. "We're gonna die!" Hank jokingly turns the jet upside down for a moment before turning it back the right way. "Hank! I'm gonna fucking kill you!"

Everyone except Sean starts laughing, he looks slightly seasick following the planes revolution. Gillian breathes heavy, trembling, hands still clenched around the cincture.

"I swear to God, I'll jump the fuck out of this plane right now," Gillian says, rushing to unfasten the straps, but fumbles with the alloy clasp. Alex swats her hands away from the belt and quietly scolds her. Erik lets out a hearty chuckle and shakes his head. "Watch. You won't be laughing when I'm hurtling for the ocean!"

Hank leans forward over the controls of the plane when suddenly, war ships line the horizon and slowly move out across the brine. One of the more steadfast ships slowly heads for the embargo line, unfaltering and inching across the water from afar.

Charles puts a finger to his temple and frowns, holding his eyes shut for a long time. "The entire crew of the Aral Sea are dead," he says, his tone somber and slightly faltering. "Shaw's been there already."

A shiver runs down Gillian's back and she clamps down harder on the cincture holding her back.

"The course is fixed for the embargo line," Charles says again.

"Once that ship crosses the line," Moira begins, heaving a large breath and pushing back a strand of hair. "Our boys are gonna blow it up."

Charles beams with an idea. "Unless they're not _our_ boys." He puts a finger to his temple again, he looks roughly into his train of thought.

A few seconds later, the Russian ships turn their artillery guns onto the Aral Sea and fire a missile. The panels near Hank begin to beep frantically as the missile comes close to the jet. He grabs for the spokes on the steering handles and pulls it towards him, the plane is flying backwards and upside down at the same time. Hank steadies the plane in it's normal position again after a fit of screaming from Raven and hysterical crying from Gillian.

"A little warning next time?" Hank asks from up front.

"My apologizes," Charles says. "Is everyone okay?"

Sean looks extremely pale in his seat, but still leans forward to observe Gillian. "Are you _really_ crying right now?"

She gives him the finger and wipes some tears from her face. "I told you that I don't like planes! Why do you think I fought against you all? _I don't like planes_!"

Alex pats her back again and brushes some curls from her eyelashes. "You'll be alright, I promise."

"I still can't locate Shaw," Charles says in vexation.

Erik's muscles tighten and he shakes his head. "He is down there, we need to find him now!"

Hank nudges Moira and gestures towards the blinking panels in front of him. "Anything abnormal on the scanner or radar?" he asks, never taking his eyes away from the clouds and the sky they litter.

Disappointed, Moira shakes her head. "Nothing, sorry."

"He has to be under water, then. _Obviously_ we don't have a sonar," grunts Hank.

Sean looks up from his lap, his face no longer chalky from seasickness. "Yes, we do."

Charles smiles. "Yes, we do," he repeats, quickly unstrapping himself. Erik and Sean also unfasten their harness and stand up. Before Erik moves to the opened hatch, he puts a hand on Alex's shoulder and motions to a trembling Gillian, instructing him to keep her calm and keep her from trying to break free again.

The wind whips at everyone's hair as Sean and Charles stand at the edge of the hatch. Sean looks nervous, but determined all at the same time. Erik begins walking towards him, but Sean stops him with an outstretched arm and a comical look on his face. "You back right off!" he shouts over the currents.

Erik backs away, putting his hands up defensively.

"Remember," Charles begins, voice raised over the rampant wings. "This is a muscle," he says, poking Sean in the throat. "You control it.

Sean nods and Charles starts the count down from three. Sean jumps down with his hands at his sides and a scream erupting from his throat, making his soar through the air and straight down into the water. Everyone waits for some clarification from Charles, but it takes a few moments.

"He's got a location on Shaw," Charles says, finger on his temple. "Are you ready for this, Erik?"

Erik grins smugly. "Let's find out, shall we?" Erik quickly disappears down the hatch with Charles kneeling down on the edge of it.

From one of the windows, after a few minutes of struggle, everyone watches as a huge submarine is torn from the rippling waves. There is some screaming exchanged by the hanger when suddenly, the jet is rocked by several tornados. Moments later, the plane collides with the beach and those who aren't seated are thrown to the sides of the plane.

Alex and Gillian and left hanging by their harnesses because the plane is tipped on its side. Alex manages to get free, but Gillian struggles with the clasp, seeing as Erik had smelted and modified it so that she wouldn't run away again. She starts crying because the cinctures are nearly strangling her and she can't get free. Alex tries to help her, but nothing works.

"Your powers, Gillian," Charles says, standing up and brushing off his suit.

She takes a deep breath and disintegrates the clasp by touching it, but the straps are still wrapped around her and she's left hanging from her arms. Alex wraps his arms around her legs and lifts her slightly so that she can free herself. The rest of her weight falls onto Alex and he slowly lowers her onto the ground, pulling her into a hug.

"Are you alright?" he asks.

"Fine, now that we're not in the air anymore."

"Shaw is harnessing the sub's energy and using it to alter himself into some kind of explosive," Charles informs, fingers pressed against his temple. "Moira, tell both fleets to evade this area."

She nods and picks up the radio, screaming orders over and over again.

"It's time!" Erik shouts. "I'm going in, Charles!"

Everyone peeks out of a new opening in the jet and watches as Shaw's team assembles across the beach. They all look prepared to strike if need be: grim lines for mouths, tight faces, furrowed, angry eyebrows. Gillian shivers under their gaze.

"Havok, Fuse, and Beast, back him up out there," Charles orders, then turns to Erik. "I can lead you through the submarine once you're in, but something is intercepting my mental feed. Find it and shut it down, Erik."

Erik dashes off toward the submarine, evidently unseen by anyone. But almost as soon as the rest of them clamber out of the demolished aircraft, Angel is spitting astringent globules of fire at them. They move to dodge them, but one sheers across the fabric of Gillian's suit and she hisses, quickly grabbing onto her forearm. When she removes her hand, there is a thin wisp of smoke and a lick of blood on her fingers.

"It's on now," she says through gritted teeth. "You just unshackled the bitch within me."

Angel flies off and disappears in the sky, but Riptide conjures up tornados in his palms and smirks at the lot. Alex quickly blasts a beam of red energy toward him, hitting Riptide and causing him to fly backwards into the sand. Gillian smiles at him and he smiles back, but the collected moment doesn't last long before Azazel appears behind the small troupe of mutants.

He swings a blade towards Alex, who ducks to avoid the attack. Hank reaches to grab the knife, but Azazel quickly swings it back in Hank's direction and he stoops down to elude the bayonet. Alex stands back up from his drooped position and Azazel wraps his peaked tail around Alex's neck, choking him. Hank grabs Azazel by the throat and suddenly they're gone, teleported somewhere else.

"No!" Gillian screams. Realizing that she is by herself on the beach (with the exception of an unconscious Riptide and Moira, Charles, and Raven in the plane), she runs back into the jet and holds onto the sides, slightly out of breath. "Charles? How far do you think I could travel in my gaseous form?"

"Maybe a few miles at most, why?" he asks, torn away from the control panel for a moment.

She nods. "Okay, thanks!"

"Gillian? Wait!" Charles calls.

Gillian runs to the shore again, standing at the brim of the waves that wet her boots. She takes a deep breath, and no quicker then Charles darts outside to see what's going on, she has already exploded into a nebulous blue vapor. The mist travels at a surprisingly fast pace through the air and across the ocean. It reaches Angel, pompous, and hovering over the brine, watching all of the mayhem unfold. The mist floats over Angel, physically assembling Gillian above her. Gravity brings her down onto Angel's back, who is caught by surprise and doesn't have time to react before both girls plummet towards the brine.

They hit the water and the force brings them deep under. The salt stings Gillian's eyes as she opens them, but she begins a swim for Angel and for a moment, they wrestle beneath the surface. Angel tries to grab the fabric of her uniform, but it's too tight to get a grip on. Gillian grabs Angel's hair into her clenched fist and tries to tug it out of her scalp, but movement under water is too slow. Angel raises a leg and sluggishly kicks Gillian in the face with her pointed heel. It only draws a bit of blood on her cheek, though the cut itself stings from the salt water. Angel opens her mouth to spit more fiery balls at Gillian, but the water seems to halt that part of her mutation. Gillian grabs Angel by the halter strap around her throat, kicking until she reaches the surface.

Once they break the gentle ripples of the brine, Gillian pulls Angel's hair again and punches her in the face several times. Angel manages to get free and flies off toward the beach, shaking the water from her wings.

"Bitch," Gillian hisses, wiping a line of blood from her cheek. She explodes again into a gaseous form, traveling back toward the shore. But between all of the energy she used the first time and fighting Angel, she turns back into her regular form as soon as the sand is beneath her. She tries to walk to the jet, but quickly falls onto her face, getting sand in her hair and on her dry tongue. Gillian crawls further onto shore and collapses, rolling over onto her back.

Something is flying through the sky. Her eyesight sharpens and she realizes that it's Sean and Alex. One of Sean's wings are on fire and the pair begin their descent onto the sand, crashing hard onto land. Alex lands far away from Sean, rolling around across the sand.

Gillian builds up a bit of strength and rushes to him, rolling him onto his back and examining him. "Are you okay?" she asks.

He nods and tries to stand up, but falters. She catches him and forces his arm around her shoulders. "I don't like this," he laughs. "I'm supposed to be the man and support you."

"No time for jokes," Gillian replies, voice stern. "Sean?" she asks from above him. "Feeling okay?"

Sean fumbles for her hand and holds it. "Are you an angel?" he asks, his mind somewhere far away.

"You're fine," she says, snatching her hand away.

There is a buzzing sound in the air, everyone looks up to find Angel zooming towards them, an angry look on her taut face. Alex pushes Gillian down into Sean's arms and shoots several rings of energy toward her wing, burning the edge of it right off. Sean lets out a hearty chuckle as she falls to the ground, but, after some struggle, gets back up.

Gillian stands up, after prying herself away from Sean. She puts a hand on Alex's chest and nods to him. "This is my fight."

"Don't," Alex begins, grabbing her hand in his own.

"It'll be quick." She smiles at him, a nice, toothy grin. "I promise."

Alex nods and lets her go.

She slowly walks toward Angel, but stops several feet in front of her. The two girls stare each other down, once friends, once buddies, now enemies and torn by Shaw. Gillian charges her with teeth bared and fists balled. She immediately dodges a punch by dropping down and dishing out a sweeping kick to Angel's legs. Angel falls down, but quickly gets back up and socks Gillian in the jowl, sending her reeling backwards.

After a moment of discomfort in her jaw, she remembers something important that Charles had taught her. As Angel moves to deal another blow, Gillian grabs her wrist and twists her arm behind her back. Gillian's free hand heats up and she draws it back, right hooks her in the jowl, exploding her hand on contact. The blow knocks Angel all the way across the beach into a tree. Gillian breathes a sigh of relief and recreates her hand, running back to Alex, hugging him.

"I told you I'd be quick," she whispers in his ear, kissing him on the jaw.

He kisses her hard on the mouth for a moment, and they just enjoy each other. Sean gapes beside them, looking around to see if anyone else had witnessed the kiss.

"I thought you loved me, Gill!" he shouts, throwing his arms up.

Alex gives Sean the finger and continues indulging himself in the beautiful girl before him. When they break away for air, Hank and Raven are suddenly beside them and everyone else is lined up in different spots on the beach. Erik and Shaw's lifeless body emerge from the submarine, both floating in the air. He drops Shaw onto the sand and lands gently behind him.

"Take off your blinder, brothers and sisters!" he shouts, observing the troupe. "The real enemy is not here, it is out there." He points towards the war ships treading water. "I can feel it. Their guns moving, metal shifting, targeting us! All of them united by fear and timidity, of us! Soviets! Americans! _Humans_!" Erik turns to Charles with an smug look on his face. "Tell me I'm wrong, Charles."

Everyone notices the guns moving in the brine, freezing up. Moira darts for the broken jet and goes inside to retrieve something. Charles tries to read Erik's mind, but the helmet on his head stops him. Tons and tons of missiles fly for the shore, causing the teenage mutants to back up further onto the beach. Erik raises his hand and the movement of the missiles are halted, instead, he turns them towards the war ships.

"Erik, we're the better men. You said it yourself," Charles says, frantic. "There are good, honest men on those ships. They are just following their orders, Erik!"

"I've been at the mercy of men just _following orders_," Erik begins. "Never again." He releases the missiles in the direction of the war ships.

"Release them! Erik!" Charles screams, dashing for Erik and tackling him. They tussle along the bank, punching each other and wrestling in the sand.

Gillian puts her hands up quickly, shooting several beams across the sky, disintegrating almost all of the missiles in mid-air, their dust falling into the brine. Just as she focuses on getting the rest of them, Erik puts a hand out towards her and lifts her up by the metal on her suit. She hangs in the air by her straps in an uncomfortable, upside down position. He sends her flying backward towards the submarine where her back collides with it. Gillian falls down onto her face, having no energy to get up, she lays there.

Moira pulls out her gun and fires several rounds at Erik. He easily deflects them all, but accidently deflects one straight into Charles' spine. He freezes in his stance for a moment before falling in the sand, crying out in agony. Erik quickly kneels beside him, extracting the bullet, and cradling him in his lap. The rest of the missiles had exploded once he lost control.

He rolls Charles onto his back, gently apologizing to him. "Stay away!" he barks to anyone trying to approach.

Alex rushes back to the submarine and hoists Gillian up, she drapes an arm around his shoulders. "You're the man now," she says, tone completely somber. He rejoins the troupe of mutants, watching the scene unfold before him.

"You did this!" Erik screams to Moira. Her dog tags wrap around her throat and begin to choke her. "You did this!"

"She didn't do this, Erik," Charles says, his face ghastly pale. "You did this."

Sadly, Erik looks at Charles, then to Moira, releasing her. She falls onto the ground and quickly scrambles for Charles as Erik gets up.

"No more hiding, friends," Erik says, grimly. "Who's with me?"

Angel, Azazel, and a now conscious Riptide join at his sides. Apprehensively, Raven steps forward and begins walking to Erik. Gillian grabs her hand, confusion clear on her face.

"What are you doing?" Gillian asks, already in hysterics.

Raven is already in tears too, she tightens her grip on Gillian's hand. "No more hiding, friend," she repeats, barely able to talk through her tears.

"Don't do this, Raven," Gillian says, shaking her head frantically and removing her arm from around Alex. She takes Raven's other hand and holds them to her own heart. "_Please_ don't do this."

"But Erik is right," she says. "We shouldn't have to hide. Humans are afraid of what they don't know, they _don't know_ us."

"You _are _human," Gillian replies, blinking away tears. "Embrace both the individual _and_ the mutant inside of you." She puts a hand to Raven's crux, she can feel it beating rapidly in her chest. "It's only a mutated gene." Gillian shakes her slightly. "Only a mutated gene," she whispers, salty tears rivuleting down her cheeks.

Raven gently pulls her hands out of Gillian's grasp and quietly apologizes, backing away and turning to walk to Erik. Before she can take another step, she pauses and runs back to Gillian, pulling her into a tight embrace. They cry on each other's shoulders for a moment before pulling away.

Raven holds onto Gillian's burning hands, slowly pulling them apart as she treads away through the sand. "I love you, girl," Raven says.

"Love you too, Raven," Gillian replies, letting their hands drop. "Never forget how beautiful you are," she whispers.

Raven walks to Charles, shares some words with him, kisses his forehead, then joins hands with Erik. "Don't forget, Hank. Mutant, and proud."

Hank grunts slightly in response. Azazel teleports all of them away, as soon as they disappear, the lot runs to Moira and Charles. Hank grabs Charles hand and tries to help him up, but he lets out a strangled cry and eases back down onto Moira's lap.

"Don't move, Charles." Hank looks around frantically. "Okay? Don't move?"

"I won't," he replies. "Actually, I can't feel my legs. I can't feel my legs."

Gillian puts a hand over her mouth to stifle a cry and Alex holds her in his arms, gently rocking her.


	22. EPILOGUE

**Well, this is the end. It's not an _exciting_ end, but it's an end. There will be a one-shot following this about something I found was very important (and that I had completely forgotten about). I'm still deciding if I should write a sequel though, if I don't, I think I'll write a Charles/OC or Erik/OC, not sure though. Feel free to give me your opinions on the situation though. Anyway, enjoy!**

* * *

><p>The sky lodges an assemblage of clouds, slightly peeking out with its salmon tint through the openings. The sun doesn't dare to rise above the cleavage in the clouds, instead, snooping around behind them. It's cold and misting outside which fits the sour and sad mood of everyone living in the Xavier residence.<p>

It's dawn or dusk, everyone has either forgotten and those who haven't don't care much for time. Day is night and vice versa because everyday is the same and continuance is no longer a factor. Everyone tends to be very short with one another when they're not bathing in their own their unhappiness or the heaviness of their own heart.

It's been exactly two months since the incident in Cuba and no one knows how to deal, even after all of that time, whether it be with their own feelings or with each other. Charles can't walk and is (rarely) dependent on everyone else to do things for him or around the house. Hank sulks in his lab all day over Raven and his crest of blue fur. He eventually rebuilt the jet to be bigger and better than it was before with more panels and controls and buttons to push. Sean goes about his day as he normally would, minus most of the sarcastic, kinky comments. Alex practices harder than ever before because of the disappointment he felt after what happened in Cuba. No one really knows how Gillian feels about it, they assume she must be extremely upset because of Raven, although she no longer shows signs of any emotion.

She sits along the crag wall outside of the manor in a windbreaker, hood flipped over her head because of the drizzle. She twiddles her thumbs in her lap, looking across the acreage to the small pond. Gillian decides that it's best to just sit and enjoy to rain, maybe it'll wash away the pity and dejection she feels.

Sean and Alex had made many efforts to get a laugh out of her, but at most, she'd only give them a flat, passive smile and apologize. Alex tried making love to her most nights, but failure was evident in the way she would tense up and object sometimes.

"Hey," Hank says from beside her.

"Hey," she replies. "Haven't seen you in a while. Been cooped up in that lab?"

Hank shrugs. "I come outside for the rain most times."

Gillian nods and turns to look at the backwoods, remembering everything that happened there: swimming, the trust exercises, games. There is an eerie silence between the two during which Gillian splashes up some water with her boots.

"What time is it, Hank?" Gillian asks. The rain has picked up and she is squinting through the downpour.

Hank slightly rolls up a sleeve and looks at his watch. "Seven o'clock."

"The time of _day_?"

He opens his mouth to speak, but quickly shuts it and shakes his head. "Actually, I don't know. It's been a while."

Gillian grunts.

"Do you know what time of day it is?" he asks, looking at her.

She shrugs her shoulders. "I woke up yesterday and it was dark outside," Gillian begins. "Then I wake up this morning, and the sky is this—" She points to the the vault of chroma above them. "Weird pinkish color. Sometimes it's like this during sunrise and sometimes during sunset, so I'm confused."

"Oh," Hank breathes. "I wouldn't know. I'm not out much anymore."

There is another stint of reticence between the two mutants. Gillian sighs, "My sleeping schedule is fucked up."

Hank nods and quietly agrees, standing up after a moment. "I enjoyed this conversation, Gill. It's nice to hear you talking again." He pats her head with his bristly hand, but quickly retracts after he remembers that the serum increased his brawn. "Sorry."

"It's fine," she replies through a forced smile. "It's nice to _see_ you again."

He grunts with a laugh and begins walking away before Gillian calls out his name over the rampant winds and vicious downpour of rain. Hank turns around and walks back to her so that he can hear.

"Yes?"

"Is it possible to take the jet somewhere?" she asks.

"Well, I suppose so. Where are you going? Aren't you afraid of planes?"

She grins. "After all of the shit you pulled in Cuba, I think I'm alright now."

"Where are you going with it?" he repeats.

"Don't worry about it," Gillian replies. "So, is that a 'yes'?"

He rolls his eyes ever so slightly. "Yes."

She bolts up from her slimy seat on the crag wall and runs to the doors of the manor. "Charles! Alex! Sean! Get your jackets on! We're going out!"

* * *

><p>"Well, Charles?" Gillian asks, leaning over the drop-leaf table on her elbows.<p>

Gingerly, he bites off a piece of his food. Charles nods with contentment as he chomps on the morsel of dough in his mouth, swallowing to deal out his reply. "Wonderful, Gillian, dear. You were true to your word." He tears off another piece, this time, getting more Savoy spinach in his bite then planned.

"I told you!" she yips, gnashing at the piece of pizza with her cuspids slightly sore from the first couple slices. "The best deep-dish pizza is, and will _always_, be found in Chicago."

Sean says something that sounds like "agreed" through a mouth full of onions, peppers, and parmesan cheese. Alex nods and gnaws at the slice of pizza in his hands, tomato sauce all over his long-sleeved t-shirt. There is a beck of oil rilling down his chin and Gillian wipes it away with the napkin folded onto her lap. Charles and Sean break into conversation about something and Gillian uses their distraction to her advantage, quickly slipping Alex a kiss on the jaw.

"I miss you," she whispers.

He smiles and pushes away a strand of henna hair with the back of his hand. "I've missed you too, Gill."

She turns back to Charles and Sean, although addressing everyone. "I'm sorry about how I've been acting." She lowers her head and fiddles with the hem of her shirt. "I'm still not _sure_ how to feel after Cuba, even though it's been two months, exactly."

Charles wipes his hands on a napkin and reaches over to put a hand on her shoulder. "Gillian, dear, everyone is having trouble dealing with the aftermath of what happened. But as an individual of the matter, you have to sort out your feeling and learn how to cope with and unburden yourself."

Gillian nods. "I know."

"Don't feel obligated to do it by yourself, Gillian," Charles says, his blue eyes sparkling with gaiety. "We're here. All of us."

"Yeah!" Sean yips through a mouth swelling with pizza. "We love you, Gill!"

She smiles and holds a hand over her heart. "I love you guys, too."

Charles nods and his eyes leer on his pizza, he frowns. "It's a shame that Hank couldn't join us."

"I know," Sean replies through bites of his pizza. "I kinda miss the big, furry guy."

"Watch it," a guttural voice says from behind Sean.

Hank stands behind them, dauntlessly ignoring the crest of blue fur covering his body. Many people in the restaurant stare at him, then to the troupe seated around the drop-leaf table, then back to Hank. Some are disgusted and some are intrigued while the rest leave with the jitters overwhelming them. Sean, Charles, Alex, and Gillian are all in shock that he dared to come out to the public with his leonine-like stature.

"Hank," Sean begins. "What're you doing here?"

"I was trying to find a place to park the jet," he answers, sitting down in the other seat beside Gillian.

"Hey!" a man with a laughable cowlick shouts from across the restaurant. "He's a mutant! He's a mutant!" Some woman, his wife, maybe, tries to quiet him, but he continues to shout over the aggresive currents outside.

"Take no notice, Hank," Charles says, brooding over his reoccuring headache.

"A mutant! A freak! _Blue fur_!"

"Yeah, ignore it, man," Sean mutters, nervously nibbling the crust of his pizza.

The man stands up and jabs a sausage-like finger at the lot of mutants. "He shouldn't be allowed in here!"

"Shut up!" Gillian retorts, putting her pizza back on the ceramic plate. "No one was acknowledging you when you first started shouting like a buffoon, so stop."

"But he's a mutant!"

"And you're _still_ talking. Why are you still talking?" Gillian asks, tucking a lock of hair away behind her ear.

"And you're sitting right next to him!" It appears as though he is trying to squeeze from behind his gateleg table, but his belly doesn't allow his to move much further then he already has. "What're you anyway? One of _them_?"

"_Them_?"

"A mutant!" he shouts back. "Those disgusting, deadly—"

Gillian quickly shoots up from her seat. "You shut your mouth!" She points her finger at the man and Charles tries to coax her back into her seat, but she quiets him with an outstretched hand. "You don't know _anything_ about us! You feel the need to pick on us because we're different, _you're afraid of what you don't know_," she says, remembering what Raven said to her in Cuba on that gritty seabank. "Get to know us, then! These kind of mutations can happen to anyone! You!" She points to some girl with overhanging eyes. "Her!" Gillian points in the direction of the kitchen where a timid cook has just come out of to check out what's going on. "Even that cook!"

The cook quickly puts his hands up in defense.

The man is quiet, as well as everyone else in the restaurant, is sitting with his mouth agape. It's so quiet that the only sounds heard are Gillian's labored breathing, the rampant winds, and the pizza cooking in the kitchenette.

"I fucking thought so," she spits, sitting back down in her seat. "We're as much human as you are a prick," Gillian says, still addressing the man with the cowlick. "Happy to have you here, Hank." She takes a bite of her pizza and chews angrily, everyone is still staring at her. "What are you all looking at? Eat your goddamn food!"

The hoard of people are drawn from Gillian and begin eating again, muttering and sometimes even sneaking smitten smiles in her direction.

"You didn't have to do that," Hank says, snatching Sean's extra slice from his plate and biting it.

"Yes, I did," she replies, looking at him and smiling slightly. Everyone finishes their food after another ten minutes in stints of silence and slow conversation. Charles offers to pay, but Gillian stops him and takes from her own wallet. "My treat," she says.

On the way out, the man mutters something that sounds like "fucking freaks" and clamps down on his pizza. Gillian touches the crust and disintegrates the entire pizza as she passes him.

"Oops! Guess I'm not _completely_ in control of these awesome powers yet."

They leave, Charles quietly scolding Gillian about what she did. She apologizes, Charles lightens up about the situation and tells her that he would love Chicago, if not for the wind. "It's something that grows on you, Charles," she says, smiling and pushing his wheelchair along the sidewalk. Hank had parked the jet on a seemingly abandoned pier on the outer part of the city, so it was a relatively long walk. But when they finally reach the jet and get in, everyone is all smiles and for these moments, they are all _okay_.


End file.
